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UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 
DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 


PS1624 
1889 


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POEMS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
We  Bitorsitie  $ress,  Camfiri&ge 

1889  i-r*»'^S 


Copyright,  1867  and  1876, 
By  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

Copyright,  1883, 
By  EDWARD  W.  EMERSON. 

AU  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Sle>  retyped  and  Printed  by  H>  0.  Houghton  &  Company. 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 
♦  ■ 

This  volume  contains  nearly  all  the  pieces  included 
in  the  Poems  and  May-Day  of  former  editions,  and 
since  Mr.  Emerson's  death  has  been  substituted  for  the 
selection  from  his  poems  published  by  him  as  a  part  of 
this  edition  in  1876.1  In  that  volume  he  introduced  six 
new  poems  and  omitted  many.  Of  those  omitted,  sev- 
eral are  now  restored,  in  accordance  with  the  expressed 
wishes  of  many  readers  and  lovers  of  them.  Also,  some 
pieces  never  before  published  are  here  given  in  an  Ap- 
pendix, on  various  grounds.  Some  of  them  appear  to 
have  had  Mr.  Emerson's  approval,  but  to  have  been 
withheld  because  they  were  unfinished.  These  it  seemed 
best  not  to  suppress,  now  that  they  can  never  receive 
their  completion.  Others,  mostly  of  an  early  date,  re- 
mained unpublished,  doubtless  because  of  their  personal 
and  private  nature.  Some  of  these  seem  to  have  an  au- 
tobiographic interest  sufficient  to  justify  their  publica- 
tion. Others  again,  often  mere  fragments,  have  been 
admitted  as  characteristic,  or  as  expressing  in  poetic 
form  thoughts  found  in  the  Essays. 

In  coming  to  a  decision  in  these  cases  it  seemed  on 
the  whole  preferable  to  take  the  risk  of  including  too 
1  Selected  Poems,  "  Little  Classic  "  Edition. 


vi 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 


much  rather  than  the  opposite,  and  to  leave  the  task  of 
further  winnowing  to  the  hands  of  Time. 

The  readings  adopted  by  Mr.  Emerson  in  the  Se- 
lected Poems  have  not  always  been  followed  here,  but 
in  some  cases  preference  has  been  given  to  corrections 
made  by  him  when  he  was  in  fuller  strength  than  at  the 
time  of  the  last  revision. 

A  change  in  the  arrangement  of  the  stanzas  of 
May-Day,  in  the  part  representative  of  the  march  of 
Spring,  received  his  sanction  as  bringing  them  more 
nearly  in  accordance  with  the  events  in  Nature. 

J.  E.  CABOT. 


CONTENTS. 


—4  

PAGE 

Prefatory  Note   v 

I. 

POEMS. 

The  Sphinx   13 

Each  and  all   18 

The  Problem   20 

To  Rhea   23 

The  Visit   26 

Uriel   28 

The  World- Soul   30 

Alphonso  of  Castile     .    34 

MlTHRIDATES   37 

To  J.  W   39 

Destiny   40 

Guy       .            .     ..      .      .      .     ;.. '  ..   ...      .  42 

Hamatreya   44 

Earth-Song   45 

Good-Bye   47 

The  Rhodora  .49 

The  Humble-Bee       .   50 

Berrying   53 

The  Snow-Storm   54 

woodnotes,  i   55 

Woodnotes,  II.   60 

MONADNOC   70 

Fable   83 

Ode    '.                                                                     .    .  |34 

Astr.ua   88 

Etienne  de  La  Boece   90 

Compensation   91 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Forbearance   92 

The  Park   93 

Forerunners   94 

Sursum  Cord  a   96 

Ode  to  Beauty   97 

Give  all  to  Love   101 

To  Ellen   103 

To  Eva   105 

The  Amulet   106 

Thine  Eyes  Still  Shined   107 

Eros   108 

Hermione   109 

Initial,  Demonic,  and  Celestial  Love. 

I.   The  Initial  Love   112 

II.   The  Demonic  Love   117 

III.   The  Celestial  Love   121 

The  Apology   126 

Merlin,  1   127 

Merlin,  II   129 

Bacchus   132 

Merops   135 

Saadi   136 

Holidays   142 

Xenophanes   143 

The  Day's  Ration   144 

Blight   146 

Musketaquid   148 

Dirge   151 

Threnody   154 

Concord  Hymn,  Sung  at  the  Completion  op  the  Battle  Monu- 
ment, April  19,  1836    164 

II. 

MAY-DAY  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 

May-Day   167 

The  Adirondacs   184 

Occasional  and  Miscellaneous  Pieces. 

Brahma   196 

Fate   197 

Freedom   198 


Ode,  Concord,  July  4,  1857 


CONTENTS.  ix 

PAGE 

Boston  Hymn   201 

Voluntaries   205 

Boston   210 

Letters   216 

Kubies   217 

The  Test      ,   218 

Solution   219 

Hymn   222 

Nature  and  Life. 

Nature,  I.   224 

Nature,  II   225 

The  Romany  Girl   226 

Days   228 

The  Chartist's  Complaint   229 

My  Garden   230 

The  Titmouse   233 

The  Harp   237 

Sea-Shore   242 

Song  of  Nature   244 

Two  Rivers   248 

Waldeinsamkeit   249 

Terminus   251 

The  Nun's  Aspiration                                              *    .  253 

April   255 

Maiden  Speech  of  the  iEoLiAN  Harp   256 

Cupido   257 

The  Past   258 

The  Last  Farewell   259 

In  Memoriam   261 

Elements. 

Experience   265 

Compensation   266 

Politics   267 

Heroism   268 

Character   269 

Culture   270 

Friendship   271 

Beauty   272 

Manners   273 

Art   274 

Spiritual  Laws                  .v   275 

Unity                                                                      .  276 

Worship   277 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Quatrains   279 

Translations   287 

III. 
APPENDIX. 

The  Poet   295 

Fragments  on  the  Poet  and  the  Poetic  Gift        .      .      .  305 

Fragments  on  Nature  and  Life    321 

The  Bohemian  Hymn      .      .      .   341 

Prayer         .    342 

Grace   343 

Eros   344 

Lines  written  in  Naples,  1833    345 

Lines  Written  in  Rome,  1883    346 

Peter's  Field   347 

The  Walk   349 

May  Morning   350 

The  Miracle   352 

The  Waterfall   354 

Walden   355 

Pan    357 

monadnoc  from  afar   358 

The  South  Wind   359 

Fame   360 

Webster   362 

Lines  Written  in  a  Volume  of  Goethe   363 

The  Enchanter   364 

Philosopher   365 

Limits   366 

Inscription  for  a  Well  in  Memory  of  the  Martyrs  of  the  War  367 

The  Exile   368 


L 

POEMS. 


POEMS. 


THE  SPHINX. 

The  Sphinx  is  drowsy, 

Her  wings  are  furled : 
Her  ear  is  heavy, 

She  broods  on  the  world. 
a  Who  '11  tell  me  my  secret, 

The  ages  have  kept  ?  — 
I  awaited  the  seer 

While  they  slumbered  and  slept :  — 

M  The  fate  of  the  man-child, 

The  meaning  of  man  ; 
Known  fruit  of  the  unknown ; 

Da3dalian  plan ; 
Out  of  sleeping  a  waking, 

Out  of  waking  a  sleep  ; 
Life  death  overtaking  ; 

Deep  underneath  deep  ? 

w  Erect  as  a  sunbeam, 

Upspringeth  the  palm  ; 
The  elephant  browses, 
Undaunted  and  calm ; 


THE  SPHINX. 


In  beautiful  motion 

The  thrush  plies  his  wings  • 
Kind  leaves  of  his  covert, 

Your  silence  he  sings. 

u  The  waves,  unashamed, 

In  difference  sweet, 
Play  glad  with  the  breezes, 

Old  playfellows  meet ; 
The  journeying  atoms, 

Primordial  wholes, 
Firmly  draw,  firmly  drive, 

By  their  animate  poles. 

"  Sea,  earth,  air,  sound,  silence, 

Plant,  quadruped,  bird, 
By  one  music  enchanted, 

One  deity  stirred,  — 
Each  the  other  adorning, 

Accompany  still  ; 
Night  veileth  the  morning, 

The  vapor  the  hill. 

"  The  babe  by  its  mother 

Lies  bathed  in  joy  ; 
Glide  its  hours  uncounted,  — 

The  sun  is  its  toy  ; 
Shines  the  peace  of  all  being, 

Without  cloud,  in  its  eyes  ; 
And  the  sum  of  the  world 

In  soft  miniature  lies. 

"  But  man  crouches  and  blushes, 
Absconds  and  conceals  ; 


THE  SPHINX. 


He  creepeth  and  peepeth, 

He  palters  and  steals  ; 
Infirm,  melancholy, 

Jealous  glancing  around, 
An  oaf,  an  accomplice, 

He  poisons  the  ground. 

"  Out  spoke  the  great  mother, 
Beholding  his  fear  ;  — 
At  the  sound  of  her  accents 

Cold  shuddered  the  sphere  :  — 
*  Who  has  drugged  my  boy's  cup  ? 

Who  has  mixed  my  boy's  bread 
Who,  with  sadness  and  madness, 
Has  turned  my  child's  head  ?  '  " 

I  heard  a  poet  answer 

Aloud  and  cheerfully, 
"  Say  on  sweet  Sphinx  !  thy  dirges 

Are  pleasant  songs  to  me. 
Deep  love  lieth  under 

These  pictures  of  time  ; 
They  fade  in  the  light  of 

Their  meaning  sublime. 

"  The  fiend  that  man  harries 

Is  love  of  the  Best  ; 
Yawns  the  pit  of  the  Dragon, 

Lit  by  rays  from  the  Blest. 
The  Lethe  of  Nature 

Can't  trance  him  again, 
Whose  soul  sees  the  perfect, 

Which  his  eyes  seek  in  vain. 


THE  SPHINX. 


"  To  vision  prof ounder, 

Man's  spirit  must  dive  ; 
His  aye-rolling  orb 

At  no  goal  wiU  arrive  ; 
The  heavens  that  now  draw  him 

With  sweetness  untold, 
Once  found,  —  for  new  heavens 

He  spurneth  the  old. 

"  Pride  ruined  the  angels, 

Their  shame  them  restores ; 
Lurks  the  joy  that  is  sweetest 

In  stings  of  remorse. 
Have  I  a  lover 

Who  is  noble  and  free  ?  — 
I  would  he  were  nobler 

Than  to  love  me. 

"  Eterne  alternation 

Now  follows,  now  flies  ; 
And  under  pain,  pleasure,  — 

Under  pleasure,  pain  lies. 
Love  works  at  the  centre, 

Heart-heaving  alway  ; 
Forth  speed  the  strong  pulses 

To  the  borders  of  day. 

u  Dull  Sphinx,  Jove  keep  thy  five  wits  ; 

Thy  sight  is  growing  blear  ; 
Rue,  myrrh  and  cummin  for  the  Sphinx, 

Her  muddy  eyes  to  clear  !  " 
The  old  Sphinx  bit  her  thick  lip,  — 

Said,  "  Who  taught  thee  me  to  name  ? 


THE  SPHINX. 


I  am  thy  spirit,  yoke-fellow, 
Of  thine  eye  I  am  eyebeam. 

*  Thou  art  the  unanswered  question 

Couldst  see  thy  proper  eye, 
Alway  it  asketh,  asketh  ; 

And  each  answer  is  a  lie. 
So  take  thy  quest  through  nature, 

It  through  thousand  natures  ply 
Ask  on,  thou  clothed  eternity  ; 

Time  is  the  false  reply." 

Uprose  the  merry  Sphinx, 

And  crouched  no  more  in  stone  : 
She  melted  into  purple  cloud, 

She  silvered  in  the  moon  ; 
She  spired  into  a  yellow  flame  ; 

She  flowered  in  blossoms  red  ; 
She  flowed  into  a  foaming  wave  ; 

She  stood  Monadnoe's  head. 

Thorough  a  thousand  voices 
Spoke  the  universal  dame  ; 
w  Who  telleth  one  of  my  meanings, 
Is  master  of  all  I  am." 
2 


EACH  AND  ALL. 


Little  thinks,  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked  olown 
Of  thee  from  the  hill-top  looking  down  ; 
The  heifer  that  lows  in  the  upland  farm, 
Far-heard,  lows  not  thine  ear  to  charm  ; 
The  sexton,  tolling  his  bell  at  noon, 
Deems  not  that  great  Napoleon 
Stops  his  horse,  and  lists  with  delight, 
Whilst  his  files  sweep  round  yon  Alpine  height ; 
Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 
Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor's  creed  has  lent. 
All  are  needed  by  each  one  ; 
Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. 
I  thought  the  sparrow's  note  from  heaven, 
Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough  ; 
I  brought  him  home,  in  his  nest,  at  even  ; 
He  sings  the  song,  but  it  cheers  not  now, 
For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky  ;  — 
He  sang  to  my  ear,  —  they  sang  to  my  eye. 
The  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore  ; 
The  bubbles  of  the  latest  wave 
Fresh  pearls  to  their  enamel  gave, 
And  the  bellowing  of  the  savage  sea 
Greeted  their  safe  escape  to  me. 
I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam, 
I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home  ; 
But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 
Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore 
With  the  sun  and  the  sand  and  the  wild  uproar. 
(18) 


EACH  AND  ALL. 


The  lover  watched  his  graceful  maid, 

As  'mid  the  virgin  train  she  strayed, 

Nor  knew  her  beauty's  best  attire 

Was  woven  still  by  the  snow-white  choir. 

At  last  she  came  to  his  hermitage, 

Like  the  bird  from  the  woodlands  to  the  cage 

The  gay  enchantment  was  undone, 

A  gentle  wife,  but  fairy  none. 

Then  I  said,  '  I  covet  truth  ; 

Beauty  is  unripe  childhood's  cheat ; 

I  leave  it  behind  with  the  games  of  youth  : '  — 

As  I  spoke,  beneath  my  feet 

The  ground-pine  curled  its  pretty  wreath, 

Running  over  the  club-moss  burrs  ; 

I  inhaled  the  violet's  breath  ; 

Around  me  stood  the  oaks  and  firs  ; 

Pine-cones  and  acorns  lay  on  the  ground  ; 

Over  me  soared  the  eternal  sky, 

Full  of  light  and  of  deity  ; 

Again  I  saw,  again  I  heard, 

The  rolling  river,  the  morning  bird  ;  — 

Beauty  through  my  senses  stole  ; 

I  yielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole. 


THE  PROBLEM. 


I  like  a  church  ;  I  like  a  cowl , 

I  love  a  prophet  of  the  soul ; 

And  on  my  heart  monastic  aisles 

Fall  like  sweet  strains,  or  pensive  smiles  : 

Yet  not  for  all  his  faith  can  see 

Would  I  that  cowled  churchman  be. 

Why  should  the  vest  on  him  allure, 
Which  I  could  not  on  me  endure  ? 

Not  from  a  vain  or  shallow  thought 

His  awful  Jove  young  Phidias  brought ; 

Never  from  lips  of  cunning  fell 

The  thrilling  Delphic  oracle  ; 

Out  from  the  heart  of  nature  rolled 

The  burdens  of  the  Bible  old  ; 

The  litanies  of  nations  came, 

Like  the  volcano's  tongue  of  flame, 

LTp  from  the  burning  core  below,  — 

The  canticles  of  love  and  woe  : 

The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome 

And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome 

Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity  ; 

Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free  ; 

He  builded  better  than  he  knew  ;  — 

The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew. 

Know'st  thou  what  wove  yon  woodbird's  nest 
Of  leaves,  and  feathers  from  her  breast  ? 
(20) 


THE  PROBLEM. 


Or  how  the  fish  outbuilt  her  shell, 
Painting  with  morn  each  annual  cell  ? 
Or  how  the  sacred  pine-tree  adds 
To  her  old  leaves  new  myriads  ? 
Such  and  so  grew  these  holy  piles, 
Whilst  love  and  terror  laid  the  tiles. 
Earth  proudly  wears  the  Parthenon, 
As  the  best  gem  upon  her  zone, 
And  Morning  opes  with  haste  her  lids 
To  gaze  upon  the  Pyramids  ; 
O'er  England's  abbeys  bends  the  sky, 
As  on  its  friends,  with  kindred  eye  ; 
For  out  of  Thought's  interior  sphere 
These  wonders  rose  to  upper  air  ; 
And  Nature  gladly  gave  them  place, 
Adopted  them  into  her  race, 
And  granted  them  an  equal  date 
With  Andes  and  with  Ararat. 

These  temples  grew  as  grows  the  grass ; 

Art  might  obey,  but  not  surpass. 

The  passive  Master  lent  his  hand 

To  the  vast  soul  that  o'er  him  planned  ; 

And  the  same  power  that  reared  the  shrine 

Bestrode  the  tribes  that  knelt  within. 

Ever  the  fiery  Pentecost 

Girds  with  one  flame  the  countless  host, 

Trances  the  heart  through  chanting  choirs, 

And  through  the  priest  the  mind  inspires. 

The  word  unto  the  prophet  spoken 

Was  writ  on  tables  yet  unbroken  ; 

The  word  by  seers  or  sibyls  told, 

In  groves  of  oak,  or  fanes  of  gold, 


THE  PROBLEM. 


Still  floats  upon  the  morning  wind, 
Still  whispers  to  the  willing  mind. 
One  accent  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
The  heedless  world  hath  never  lost. 
I  know  what  say  the  fathers  wise,  — 
The  Book  itself  before  me  lies, 
Old  Chrysostom,  best  Augustine, 
And  he  who  blent  both  in  his  line, 
The  younger  Golden  Lips  or  mines, 
Taylor,  the  Shakspeare  of  divines. 
His  words  are  music  in  my  ear, 
I  see  his  cowled  portrait'  dear  ; 
And  yet,  for  all  his  faith  could  see, 
I  would  not  the  good  bishop  be. 


TO  RHEA, 


Thee,  dear  friend,  a  brother  soothes, 
Not  with  flatteries,  but  truths, 
Which  tarnish  not,  but  purify- 
To  light  which  dims  the  morning's  eye. 
I  have  come  from  the  spring- woods, 
From  the  fragrant  solitudes  ;  — 
Listen  what  the  poplar-tree 
And  murmuring  waters  counselled  me. 

If  with  love  thy  heart  has  burned  ; 
If  thy  love  is  unreturned  ; 
Hide  thy  grief  within  thy  breast, 
Though  it  tear  thee  unexpressed  ; 
For  when  love  has  once  departed 
From  the  eyes  of  the  false-hearted, 
And  one  by  one  has  torn  off  quite 
The  bandages  of  purple  light ; 
Though  thou  wert  the  loveliest 
Form  the  soul  had  ever  dressed, 
Thou  shalt  seem,  in  each  reply, 
A  vixen  to  his  altered  eye  ; 
Thy  softest  pleadings  seem  too  bold, 
Thy  praying  lute  will  seem  to  scold  ; 
Though  thou  kept  the  straightest  road, 
Yet  thou  errest  far  and  broad. 

But  thou  shalt  do  as  do  the  gods 
In  their  cloudless  periods  ; 

(23) 


TO  RHEA. 


For  of  this  lore  be  thou  sure,  — 

Though  thou  forget,  the  gods,  secure, 

Forget  never  their  command, 

But  make  the  statute  of  this  land. 

As  they  lead,  so  follow  all, 

Ever  have  done,  ever  shall. 

Warning  to  the  blind  and  deaf, 

?T  is  written  on  the  iron  leaf, 

Who  drinks  of  Cupid's  nectar  cup 

Loveth  downward,  and  not  up  j 

He  who  loves,  of  gods  or  men, 

Shall  not  by  the  same  be  loved  again  ; 

His  sweetheart's  idolatry 

Falls,  in  turn,  a  new  degree. 

When  a  god  is  once  beguiled 

By  beauty  of  a  mortal  child 

And  by  her  radiant  youth  delighted, 

He  is  not  fooled^but  warily  knoweth 

His  love  shall  never  be  requited. 

And  thus  the  wise  Immortal  doeth,  — 

'T  is  his  study  and  delight 

To  bless  that  creature  day  and  night ; 

From  all  evils  to  defend  her  ; 

In  her  lap  to  pour  all  splendor  ; 

To  ransack  earth  for  riches  rare, 

And  fetch  her  stars  to  deck  her  hair : 

He  mixes  music  with  her  thoughts, 

And  saddens  her  with  heavenly  doubts  : 

All  grace,  all  good  his  great  heart  knows, 

Profuse  in  love,  the  king  bestows, 

Saying,  '  Hearken  !  Earth,  Sea,  Air  ! 

This  monument  of  my  despair 

Build  I  to  the  All-Good,  All-Fair. 


TO  RHEA. 


Not  for  a  private  good, 

But  I,  from  my  beatitude, 

Albeit  scorned  as  none  was  scorned, 

Adorn  her  as  was  none  adorned. 

I  make  this  maiden  an  ensample 

To  Nature,  through  her  kingdoms  ample, 

Whereby  to  model  newer  races, 

Statelier  forms  and  fairer  faces  ; 

To  carry  man  to  new  degrees 

Of  power  and  of  comeliness. 

These  presents  be  the  hostages 

Which  I  pawn  for  my  release. 

See  to  thyself,  0  Universe  ! 

Thou  art  better,  and  not  worse.'  — 

And  the  god,  having  given  all, 

Is  freed  forever  from  his  thrall. 


THE  VISIT. 


Askest,  £  How  long  thou  shalt  stay  ? ? 

Devastator  of  the  day  ! 

Know,  each  substance  and  relation, 

Thorough  nature's  operation, 

Hath  its  unit,  bound  and  metre  ; 

And  every  new  compound 

Is  some  product  and  repeater,  — 

Product  of  the  earlier  found. 

But  the  unit  of  the  visit, 

The  encounter  of  the  wise,  — 

Say,  what  other  metre  is  it 

Than  the  meeting  of  the  eyes  ? 

Nature  poureth  into  nature 

Through  the  channels  of  that  feature, 

Riding  on  the  ray  of  sight, 

Fleeter  far  than  whirlwinds  go, 

Or  for  service,  or  delight, 

Hearts  to  hearts  their  meaning  show, 

Sum  their  long  experience, 

And  import  intelligence. 

Single  look  has  drained  the  breast ; 

Single  moment  years  confessed. 

The  duration  of  a  glance 

Is  the  term  of  convenance, 

And,  though  thy  rede  be  church  or  state, 

Frugal  multiples  of  that. 

(26) 


THE  VISIT. 


Speeding  Saturn  cannot  halt ; 
Linger,  —  thou  shalt  rue  the  fault : 
If  Love  his  moment  overstay, 
Hatred's  swift  repulsions  play. 


URIEL. 


It  fell  in  the  ancient  periods 

Which  the  brooding  soul  surveys, 

Or  ever  the  wild  Time  coined  itself 
Into  calendar  months  and  days. 

This  was  the  lapse  of  Uriel, 
Which  in  Paradise  befell. 
Once,  among  the  Pleiads  walking, 
Seyd  overheard  the  young  gods  talking  ; 
And  the  treason,  too  long  pent, 
To  his  ears  was  evident. 
The  young  deities  discussed 
Laws  of  form,  and  metre  just, 
Orb,  quintessence,  and  sunbeams, 
What  subsisteth,  and  what  seems. 
One,  with  low  tones  that  decide, 
And  doubt  and  reverend  use  defied, 
With  a  look  that  solved  the  sphere, 
And  stirred  the  devils  everywhere, 
Gave  his  sentiment  divine 
Against  the  being  of  a  line. 
*  Line  in  nature  is  not  found  ; 
Unit  and  universe  are  round  ; 
In  vain  produced,  all  rays  return  ; 
Evil  will  bless,  and  ice  will  burn.' 
As  Uriel  spoke  with  piercing  eye, 
A  shudder  ran  around  the  sky  ; 

(28) 


URIEL. 


The  stern  old  war-gods  shook  their  heads, 
The  seraphs  frowned  from  myrtle-beds  ; 
Seemed  to  the  holy  festival 
The  rash  word  boded  ill  to  all ; 
The  balance-beam  of  Fate  was  bent ; 
The  bounds  of  good  and  ill  were  rent ; 
Strong  Hades  could  not  keep  his  own, 
But  all  slid  to  confusion. 

A  sad  self-knowledge,  withering,  fell 

On  the  beauty  of  Uriel ; 

In  heaven  once  eminent,  the  god 

Withdrew,  that  hour,  into  his  cloud  ; 

Whether  doomed  to  long  gyration 

In  the  sea  of  generation, 

Or  by  knowledge  grown  too  bright 

To  hit  the  nerve  of  feebler  sight. 

Straightway,  a  forgetting  wind 

Stole  over  the  celestial  kind, 

And  their  lips  the  secret  kept, 

If  in  ashes  the  fire-seed  slept. 

But  now  and  then,  truth-speaking  things 

Shamed  the  angels'  veiling  wings  ; 

And,  shrilling  from  the  solar  course, 

Or  from  fruit  of  chemic  force, 

Procession  of  a  soul  in  matter, 

Or  the  speeding  change  of  water, 

Or  out  of  the  good  of  evil  born, 

Came  Uriel's  voice  of  cherub  scorn, 

And  a  blush  tinged  the  upper  sky, 

And  the  gods  shook,  they  knew  not  why. 


THE  WOKLD-SOUL. 


Thanks  to  the  morning  light, 

Thanks  to  the  foaming  sea, 
To  the  uplands  of  New  Hampshire, 

To  the  green-haired  forest  free  ; 
Thanks  to  each  man  of  courage, 

To  the  maids  of  holy  mind, 
To  the  boy  with  his  games  undaunted 

Who  never  looks  behind. 

Cities  of  proud  hotels, 

Houses  of  rich  and  great, 
Vice  nestles  in  your  chambers, 

Beneath  your  roofs  of  slate. 
It  cannot  conquer  folly,  — 

Time-and-space-conquering  steam,  — 
And  the  light-outspeeding  telegraph 

Bears  nothing  on  its  beam. 

The  politics  are  base  ; 

The  letters  do  not  cheer : 
And 't  is  far  in  the  deeps  of  history, 

The  voice  that  speaketh  clear. 
Trade  and  the  streets  ensnare  us, 

Our  bodies  are  weak  and  worn ; 
We  plot  and  corrupt  each  other, 

And  we  despoil  the  unborn. 
(30) 


THE  WORLD-SOUL. 


Yet  there  in  the  parlor  sits 

Some  figure  of  noble  guise,  — 
Our  angel,  in  a  stranger's  form, 

Or  woman's  pleading  eyes  ; 
Or  only  a  flashing  sunbeam 

In  at  the  window-pane  ; 
Or  Music  pours  on  mortals 

Its  beautiful  disdain. 

The  inevitable  morning 

Finds  them  who  in  cellars  be  ; 
And  be  sure  the  all-loving  Nature 

Will  smile  in  a  factory. 
Yon  ridge  of  purple  landscape, 

Yon  sky  between  the  walls, 
Hold  all  the  hidden  wonders 

In  scanty  intervals. 

Alas  !  the  Sprite  that  hauiifcs  us 

Deceives  our  rash  desire  ; 
It  whispers  of  the  glorious  gods, 

And  leaves  us  in  the  mire. 
We  cannot  learn  the  cipher 

That 's  writ  upon  our  cell  ; 
Stars  taunt  us  by  a  mystery 

Which  we  could  never  spell. 

If  but  one  hero  knew  it, 

The  world  would  blush  in  flame  ; 
The  sage,  till  he  hit  the  secret, 

Would  hang  his  head  for  shame* 
Our  brothers  have  not  read  it, 

Not  one  has  found  the  key  ; 


THE  WORLD-SOUL. 


And  henceforth  we  are  comforted,  — 
We  are  but  such  as  they. 

Still,  still  the  secret  presses  ; 

The  nearing  clouds  draw  down  ; 
The  crimson  morning  flames  into 

The  fopperies  of  the  town. 
Within,  without  the  idle  earth, 

Stars  weave  eternal  rings  ; 
The  sun  himself  shines  heartily, 

And  shares  the  joy  he  brings. 

And  what  if  Trade  sow  cities 

Like  shells  along  the  shore, 
And  thatch  with  towns  the  prairie  broad 

With  railways  ironed  o'er  ?  — 
They  are  but  sailing  foam-bells 

Along  Thought's  causing  stream, 
And  take  their  shape  and  sun-color 

From  him  that  sends  the  dream. 

For  Destiny  never  swerves, 

Nor  yields  to  men  the  helm  ; 
He  shoots  his  thought,  by  hidden  nerves, 

Throughout  the  solid  realm. 
The  patient  Daemon  sits, 

With  roses  and  a  shroud  ; 
He  has  his  way,  and  deals  his  gifts,  — 

But  ours  is  not  allowed. 

He  is  no  churl  nor  trifler, 
And  his  viceroy  is  none,  — 


THE  WORLD-SOUL. 


Love- without- weakness,  — 

Of  Genius  sire  and  son. 
And  his  will  is  not  thwarted  ; 

The  seeds  of  land  and  sea 
Are  the  atoms  of  his  body  bright, 

And  his  behest  obey. 

He  serveth  the  servant. 

The  brave  he  loves  amain  ; 
He  kills  the  cripple  and  the  sick, 

And  straight  begins  again  ; 
For  gods  delight  in  gods, 

And  thrust  the  weak  aside  ; 
To  him  who  scorns  their  charities 

Their  arms  fly  open  wide. 

When  the  old  world  is  sterile 

And  the  ages  are  effete, 
He  will  from  wrecks  and  sediment 

The  fairer  world  complete. 
He  forbids  to  despair  ; 

His  cheeks  mantle  with  mirth  ; 
And  the  unimagined  good  of  men 

Is  yeaning  at  the  birth. 

Spring  still  makes  spring  in  the  mind 

When  sixty  years  are  told  ; 
Love  wakes  anew  this  throbbing  heart, 

And  we  are  never  old. 
Over  the  winter  glaciers 

I  see  the  summer  glow, 
And  through  the  wild- piled  snowdrift, 

The  warm  rosebuds  below, 


ALPHONSO  OF  CASTILE. 


I,  Alphonso,  live  and  learn, 
Seeing  Nature  go  astern. 
Things  deteriorate  in  kind  ; 
Lemons  run  to  leaves  and  rind  ; 
Meagre  crop  of  figs  and  limes  ; 
Shorter  days  and  harder  times. 
Flowering  April  cools  and  dies 
In  the  insufficient  skies. 
Imps,  at  high  midsummer,  blot 
Half  the  sun's  disk  with  a  spot : 
ST  will  not  now  avail  to  tan 
Orange  cheek  or  skin  of  man. 
Roses  bleach,  the  goats  are  dry, 
Lisbon  quakes,  the  people  cry. 
Yon  pale,  scrawny  fisher  fools, 
Gaunt  as  bitterns  in  the  pools, 
Are  no  brothers  of  my  blood  ;  — 
They  discredit  Adamhood. 
Eyes  of  gods  f  ye  must  have  seen, 
O'er  your  ramparts  as  ye  lean, 
The  general  debility  ; 
Of  genius  the  sterility  ; 
Mighty  projects  countermanded  ; 
Rash  ambition,  brokenhanded  ; 
Puny  man  and  scentless  rose 
Tormenting  Pan  to  double  the  dose. 
Rebuild  or  ruin  :  either  fill 
Of  vital  force  the  wasted  rill, 
(34) 


ALPHONSO  OF  CASTILE. 


Or  tumble  all  again  in  heap 
To  weltering  chaos  and  to  sleep. 

Say,  Seigniors,  are  the  old  Niles  dry, 
Which  fed  the  veins  of  earth  and  sky, 
That  mortals  miss  the  loyal  heats, 
Which  drove  them  erst  to  social  feats  ; 
Now,  to  a  savage  selfness  grown, 
Think  nature  barely  serves  for  one  ; 
With  science  poorly  mask  their  hurt, 
And  vex  the  gods  with  question  pert, 
Immensely  curious  whether  you 
Still  are  rulers,  or  mildew  ? 

Masters,  I 'm  in  pain  with  you  ; 
Masters,  I  '11  be  plain  with  you  ; 
In  my  palace  of  Castile, 
I,  a  king,  for  kings  can  feel. 
There  my  thoughts  the  matter  roll, 
And  solve  and  oft  resolve  the  whole. 
And,  for  I  'm  styled  Alphonse  the  Wise, 
Ye  shall  not  fail  for  sound  advice. 
Before  ye  want  a  drop  of  rain, 
Hear  the  sentiment  of  Spain. 

You  have  tried  famine  :  no  more  try  it ; 

Ply  us  now  with  a  full  diet ; 

Teach  your  pupils  now  with  plenty, 

For  one  sun  supply  us  twenty. 

I  have  thought  it  thoroughly  over,  — 

State  of  hermit,  state  of  lover  ; 

We  must  have  society, 

We  cannot  spare  variety. 


ALPHONSO  OF  CASTILE. 


Hear  you,  then,  celestial  fellows  ! 
Fits  not  to  be  overzealous  ; 
Steads  not  to  work  on  the  clean  jump, 
Nor  wine  nor  brains  perpetual  pump. 
Men  and  gods  are  too  extense  ; 
Could  you  slacken  and  condense  ? 
Your  rank  overgrowths  reduce 
Till  your  kinds  abound  with  juice  ? 
Earth,  crowded,  cries,  '  Too  many  men 
My  counsel  is,  kill  nine  in  ten, 
And  bestow  the  shares  of  all 
On  the  remnant  decimal. 
Add  their  nine  lives  to  this  cat  ; 
Stuff  their  nine  brains  in  one  hat  ; 
Make  his  frame  and  forces  square 
With  the  labors  he  must  dare  ; 
Thatch  his  flesh,  and  even  his  years 
With  the  marble  which  he  rears. 
There,  growing  slowly  old  at  ease, 
No  faster  than  his  planted  trees, 
He  may,  by  warrant  of  his  age, 
In  schemes  of  broader  scope  engage. 
So  shall  ye  have  a  man  of  the  sphere 
Fit  to  grace  the  solar  year. 


MITHRIDATES. 


I  cannot  spare  water  or  wine, 
Tobacco-leaf,  or  poppy,  or  rose  ; 

From  the  earth-poles  to  the  line, 
All  between  that  works  or  grows, 

Everything  is  kin  of  mine. 

Give  me  agates  for  my  meat ; 
Give  me  cantharids  to  eat  ; 
From  air  and  ocean  bring  me  foods, 
From  all  zones  and  altitudes  ;  — 

From  all  natures,  sharp  and  slimy, 
Salt  and  basalt,  wild  and  tame  : 

Tree  and  lichen,  ape,  sea-lion, 
Bird  and  reptile,  be  my  game. 

Ivy  for  my  fillet  band  ; 
Blinding  dog-wood  in  my  hand  ; 
Hemlock  for  my  sherbet  cull  me, 
And  the  prussic  juice  to  lull  me  ; 
Swing  me  in  the  upas  boughs, 
Vampyre-fanned,  when  I  carouse. 

Too  long  shut  in  strait  and  few, 
Thinly  dieted  on  dew, 
I  will  use  the  world,  and  sift  it, 
To  a  thousand  humors  shift  it, 
(37) 


MITHRIDATES. 


As  you  spin  a  cherry. 
O  doleful  ghosts,  and  goblins  merry ! 
O  all  you  virtues,  methods,  mights, 
Means,  appliances,  delights, 
Reputed  wrongs  and  braggart  rights, 
Smug  routine,  and  things  allowed, 
Minorities,  things  under  cloud  ! 
Hither  !  take  me,  use  me,  fill  me, 
Vein  and  artery,  though  ye  kill  me ! 


TO  J.  W. 


Set  not  thy  foot  on  graves  ; 

Hear  what  wine  and  roses  say  ; 

The  mountain  chase,  the  summer  waves, 

The  crowded  town,  thy  feet  may  well  delay. 

Set  not  thy  foot  on  graves  ; 

Nor  seek  to  unwind  the  shroud 

Which  charitable  Time 

And  Nature  have  allowed 

To  wrap  the  errors  of  a  sage  sublime. 

Set  not  thy  foot  on  graves  ; 
Care  not  to  strip  the  dead 
Of  his  sad  ornament, 
His  myrrh,  and  wine,  and  rings, 

His  sheet  of  lead, 
And  trophies  buried  : 

Go,  get  them  where  he  earned  them  when  alive  ; 
As  resolutely  dig  or  dive. 

Life  is  too  short  to  waste 

In  critic  peep  or  cynic  bark, 

Quarrel  or  reprimand  : 

'T  will  soon  be  dark  ; 

Up  !  mind  thine  own  aim,  and 

God  speed  the  mark! 

(39) 


DESTINY. 

That  you  are  fair  or  wise  is  vain, 

Or  strong,  or  rich,  or  generous  ; 

You  must  add  the  untaught  strain 

That  sheds  beauty  on  the  rose. 

There 's  a  melody  born  of  melody, 

Which  melts  the  world  into  a  sea. 

Toil  could  never  compass  it ; 

Art  its  height  could  never  hit  ; 

It  came  never  out  of  wit ; 

But  a  music  music-born 

Well  may  Jove  and  Juno  scorn. 

Thy  beauty,  if  it  lack  the  fire 

Which  drives  me  mad  with  sweet  desire, 

What  boots  it  ?    What  the  soldier's  mail, 

Unless  he  conquer  and  prevail  ? 

What  all  the  goods  thy  pride  which  lift, 

If  thou  pine  for  another's  gift  ? 

Alas  !  that  one  is  born  in  blight, 

Victim  of  perpetual  slight : 

When  thou  lookest  on  his  face, 

Thy  heart  saith,  '  Brother,  go  thy  ways  ! 

None  shall  ask  thee  what  thou  doest, 

Or  care  a  rush  for  what  thou  knowest, 

Or  listen  when  thou  repliest, 

Or  remember  where  thou  liest, 

Or  how  thy  supper  is  sodden  ; ' 

And  another  is  born 

To  make  the  sun  forgotten. 

(40) 


DESTINY. 


Surely  he  carries  a  talisman 
Under  his  tongue  ; 
Broad  his  shoulders  are  and  strong  ; 
And  his  eye  is  scornful, 
Threatening  and  young. 
I  hold  it  of  little  matter 
Whether  your  jewel  be  of  pure  water, 
A  rose  diamond  or  a  white, 
But  whether  it  dazzle  me  with  light. 
I  care  not  how  you  are  dressed, 
In  coarsest  weeds  or  in  the  best ; 
Nor  whether  your  name  is  base  or  brave  i 
Nor  for  the  fashion  of  your  behavior  ; 
But  whether  you  charm  me, 
Bid  my  bread  feed  and  my  fire  warm  me, 
And  dress  up  Nature  in  your  favor. 
**One  thing  is  forever  good  ; 
That  one  thing  is  Success,  — 
Dear  to  the  Eumenides, 
And  to  all  the  heavenly  brood. 
Who  bides  at  home,  nor  looks  abroad, 
Carries  the  eagles,  and  masters  the  sword. 


GUY. 

Mortal  mixed  of  middle  clay, 
Attempered  to  the  night  and  day, 
Interchangeable  with  things, 
Needs  no  amulets  nor  rings. 
Guy  possessed  the  talisman 
That  all  things  from  him  began  ; 
And  as,  of  old,  Polycrates 
Chained  the  sunshine  and  the  breeze, 
So  did  Guy  betimes  discover 
Fortune  was  his  guard  and  lover  ; 
In  strange  junctures,  felt,  with  awe, 
His  own  symmetry  with  law  ; 
That  no  mixture  could  withstand 
The  virtue  of  his  lucky  hand. 
He  gold  or  jewel  could  not  lose, 
Nor  not  receive  his  ample  dues. 
Fearless  Guy  had  never  foes, 
He  did  their  weapons  decompose. 
Aimed  at  him,  the  blushing  blade 
Healed  as  fast  the  wounds  it  made. 
If  on  the  f oeman  fell  his  gaze, 
Him  it  would  straightway  blind  or  craze. 
In  the  street,  if  he  turned  round, 
His  eye  the  eye 't  was  seeking  found. 
It  seemed  his  Genius  discreet 
Worked  on  the  Maker's  own  receipt, 
And  made  each  tide  and  element 
Stewards  of  stipend  and  of  rent ; 
(42) 


GUY. 


So  that  the  common  waters  fell 
As  costly  wine  into  his  well. 
He  had  so  sped  his  wise  affairs 
That  he  caught  Nature  in  his  snares. 
Early  or  late,  the  falling  rain 
Arrived  in  time  to  swell  his  grain  ; 
Stream  could  not  so  perversely  wind 
But  corn  of  Guy's  was  there  to  grind : 
The  siroc  found  it  on  its  way, 
To  speed  his  sails,  to  dry  his  hay  ; 
And  the  world's  sun  seemed  to  rise 
To  drudge  all  day  for  Guy  the  wise. 
In  his  rich  nurseries,  timely  skill 
Strong  crab  with  nobler  blood  did  fill ; 
The  zephyr  in  his  garden  rolled 
From  plum-trees  vegetable  gold  ; 
And  all  the  hours  of  the  year 
With  their  own  harvest  honored  were. 
There  was  no  frost  but  welcome  came, 
Nor  freshet,  nor  midsummer  flame. 
Belonged  to  wind  and  world  the  toil 
And  venture,  and  to  Guy  the  oil. 


HAMATREYA. 


Bulkeley,  Hunt,  Willard,  Hosmer,  Meriam,  Flint, 
Possessed  the  land  which  rendered  to  their  toil 
Hay,  corn,  roots,  hemp,  flax,  apples,  wool  and  wood. 
Each  of  these  landlords  walked  amidst  his  farm, 
Saying,  4  'T  is  mine,  my  children's  and  my  name's. 
How  sweet  the  west  wind  sounds  in  my  own  trees  ! 
How  graceful  climb  those  shadows  on  my  hill  I 
I  fancy  these  pure  waters  and  the  flags 
Know  me,  as  does  my  dog  :  we  sympathize  ; 
And,  I  affirm,  my  actions  smack  of  the  soil.' 

Where  are  these  men  ?   Asleep  beneath  their  grounds.- 
And  strangers,  fond  as  they,  their  furrows  plough. 
Earth  laughs  in  flowers,  to  see  her  boastful  boys 
Earth-proud,  proud  of  the  earth  which  is  not  theirs 
Who  steer  the  plough,  but  cannot  steer  their  feet 
Clear  of  the  grave. 

They  added  ridge  to  valley,  brook  to  pond, 
And  sighed  for  all  that  bounded  their  domain  ; 
*  This  suits  me  for  a  pasture  ;  that 's  my  park  ; 
We  must  have  clay,  lime,  gravel,  granite-ledge, 
And  misty  lowland,  where  to  go  for  peat. 
The  land  is  well,  —  lies  fairly  to  the  south. 
'T  is  good,  when  you  have  crossed  the  sea  and  back, 
To  find  the  sitfast  acres  where  you  left  them.' 
Ah  !  the  hot  owner  sees  not  Death,  who  adds 
Him  to  his  land,  a  lump  of  mould  the  more. 
Hear  what  the  Earth  says  :  — 
(44) 


HAMATREYA. 


EARTH-SONG. 

c  Mine  and  yours  ; 
Mine,  not  yours. 
Earth  endures  ; 
Stars  abide  — 
Shine  down  in  the  old  sea  ; 
Old  are  the  shores  ; 
But  where  are  old  men  ? 
I  who  have  seen  much, 
Such  have  I  never  seen. 

6  The  lawyer's  deed 
Ran  sure, 
In  tail, 

To  them,  and  to  their  heirs 
Who  shall  succeed, 
Without  fail, 
Forevermore. 

*  Here  is  the  land, 
Shaggy  with  wood, 
With  its  old  valley, 
Mound  and  flood. 
But  the  heritors  ?  — 
Fled  like  the  flood's  foam. 
The  lawyer,  and  the  laws, 
And  the  kingdom, 
Clean  swept  herefrom. 

*  They  called  me  theirs, 
Who  so  controlled  me  ; 


HAMATREYA. 


Yet  every  one 

Wished  to  stay,  and  is  gone, 
How  am  I  theirs, 
If  they  cannot  hold  me, 
But  I  hold  them  ? 9 


When  I  heard  the  Earth-song, 

I  was  no  longer  brave  ; 

My  avarice  cooled 

Like  lust  in  the  chill  of  the  grave. 


GOOD-BYE. 


Good-bye,  proud  world  !    I 'm  going  home  : 

Thou  art  not  my  friend,  and  I  'm  not  thine. 

Long  through  thy  weary  crowds  I  roam  ; 

A  river-ark  on  the  ocean  brine, 

Long  I 've  been  tossed  like  the  driven  foam  ; 

But  now,  proud  world  !    I  'in  going  home. 

Good-bye  to  Flattery's  fawning  face  ; 

To  Grandeur  with  his  wise  grimace  ; 

To  upstart  Wealth's  averted  eye  ; 

To  supple  Office,  low  and  high  ; 

To  crowded  halls,  to  court  and  street ; 

To  frozen  hearts  and  hasting  feet  ; 

To  those  who  go,  and  those  who  come  ; 

Good-bye,  proud  world  !    I 'm  going  home, 

I  am  going  to  my  own  hearth-stone, 
Bosomed  in  yon  green  hills  alone,  — 
A  secret  nook  in  a  pleasant  land, 
Whose  groves  the  frolic  fairies  planned  ; 
Where  arches  green,  the  livelong  day, 
Echo  the  blackbird's  roundelay, 
And  vulgar  feet  have  never  trod 
A  spot  that  is  sacred  to  thought  and  God. 

O,  when  I  am  safe  in  my  sylvan  home, 
I  tread  on  the  pride  of  Greece  and  Rome  ; 
And  when  I  am  stretched  beneath  the  pines, 
Where  the  evening  star  so  holy  shines, 
(47) 


GOOD-BYE. 


I  laugh  at  the  lore  and  the  pride  of  man, 
At  the  sophist  schools  and  the  learned  clan  ; 
For  what  are  they  all,  in  their  high  conceit, 
When  man  in  the  bush  with  God  may  meet  ? 


THE  RHODORA : 


ON  BEING  ASKED,  WHENCE  IS  THE  FLOWER  ? 

In  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 
I  found  the  fresh  Rhodora  in  the  woods, 
Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 
To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook. 
The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool, 
Made  the  black  water  with  their  beauty  gay  ; 
Here  might  the  red-bird  come  his  plumes  to  cool, 
And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 
Rhodora  !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 
This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and  sky, 
Tell  them,  dear,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 
Then  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being : 
Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose  ! 
I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew  : 
But,  in  my  simple  ignorance,  suppose 
The  self-same  Power  that  brought  me  there  brought 
you. 

4  (49) 


THE  HUMBLE-BEK 

Burly,  dozing  humble-bee, 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me. 
Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Bique, 
Far-off  heats  through  seas  to  seek  ; 
I  will  follow  thee  alone, 
Thou  animated  torrid-zone  ! 
Zigzag  steerer,  desert  cheerer, 
Let  me  chase  thy  waving  lines  ; 
Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer, 
Singing  over  shrubs  and  vines. 

Insect  lover  of  the  sun, 
Joy  of  thy  dominion  ! 
Sailor  of  the  atmosphere  ; 
Swimmer  through  the  waves  of  air  ; 
Voyager  of  light  and  noon  ; 
Epicurean  of  June  ; 
Wait,  I  prithee,  till  I  come 
Within  earshot  of  thy  hum,  — 
All  without  is  martyrdom. 

When  the  south  wind,  in  May  days. 
With  a  net  of  shining  haze 
Silvers  the  horizon  wall, 
And  with  softness  touching  all, 
Tints  the  human  countenance 
With  a  color  of  romance, 
(50) 


THE  HUMBLE-BEE. 


And  infusing  subtle  heats, 
Turns  the  sod  to  violets, 
Thou,  in  sunny  solitudes, 
Rover  of  the  underwoods, 
The  green  silence  dost  displace 
With  thy  mellow,  breezy  bass. 

Hot  midsummer's  petted  crone, 
Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone 
Tells  of  countless  sunny  hours, 
Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flowers 
Of  gulfs  of  sweetness  without  bound 
In  Indian  wildernesses  found  ; 
Of  Syrian  peace,  immortal  leisure, 
Firmest  cheer,  and  bird-like  pleasure. 

Aught  unsavory  or  unclean 
Hath  my  insect  never  seen  ; 
But  violets  and  bilberry  bells, 
Maple-sap  and  daffodels, 
Grass  with  green  flag  half-mast  high, 
Succory  to  match  the  sky, 
Columbine  with  horn  of  honey, 
Scented  fern  and  agrimony, 
Clover,  catchfly,  adder's-tongue 
And  brier-roses,  dwelt  among  ; 
All  beside  was  unknown  waste, 
All  was  picture  as  he  passed. 

Wiser  far  than  human  seer, 
Yellow-breeched  philosopher ! 
Seeing  only  what  is  fair, 
Sipping  only  what  is  sweet, 


THE  HUMBLE-BEE. 


Thou  dost  mock  at  fate  and  care, 
Leave  the  chaff,  and  take  the  wheat. 
When  the  fierce  northwestern  blast 
Cools  sea  and  land  so  far  and  fast, 
Thou  already  slumberest  deep  ; 
Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleep  ; 
Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us, 
Thy  sleep  makes  ridiculous. 


BERRYING. 

6  May  be  true  what  I  had  heard,  — 
Earth 's  a  howling  wilderness, 
Truculent  with  fraud  and  force,' 
Said  I,  strolling  through  the  pastures, 
And  along  the  river-side. 
Caught  among  the  blackberry  vines, 
Feeding  on  the  Ethiops  sweet, 
Pleasant  fancies  overtook  me. 
I  said,  4  What  influence  me  preferred, 
Elect,  to  dreams  thus  beautiful  ?  ' 
The  vines  replied,  '  And  didst  thou  deem 
No  wisdom  from  our  berries  went  ? ' 
(53) 


THE  SNOW-STORM. 


Announced  by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky, 
Arrives  the  snow,  and,  driving  o'er  the  fields, 
Seems  nowhere  to  alight  :  the  whited  air 
Hides  hills  and  woods,  the  river,  and  the  heaven, 
And  veils  the  farm-house  at  the  garden's  end. 
The  sled  and  traveller  stopped,  the  courier's  feet 
Delayed,  all  friends  shut  out,  the  housemates  sit 
Around  the  radiant  fireplace,  enclosed 
In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm. 

Come  see  the  north  wind's  masonry. 
Out  of  an  unseen  quarry  evermore 
Furnished  with  tile,  the  fierce  artificer 
Curves  his  white  bastions  with  projected  roof 
Round  every  windward  stake,  or  tree,  or  door. 
Speeding,  the  myriad-handed,  his  wild  work 
So  fanciful,  so  savage,  nought  cares  he 
For  number  or  proportion.  Mockingly, 
On  coop  or  kennel  he  hangs  Parian  wreaths  ; 
A  swan-like  form  invests  the  hidden  thorn  ; 
Fills  up  the  farmer's  lane  from  wall  to  wall, 
Maugre  the  farmer's  sighs  ;  and  at  the  gate 
A  tapering  turret  overtops  the  work. 
And  when  his  hours  are  numbered,  and  the  world 
Is  all  his  own,  retiring,  as  he  were  not, 
Leaves,  when  the  sun  appears,  astonished  Art 
To  mimic  in  slow  structures,  stone  by  stone, 
Built  in  an  age,  the  mad  wind's  night-work, 
The  frolic  architecture  of  the  snow. 

(54) 


WOODXOTES. 


L 
1. 

When  the  pine  tosses  its  cones 
To  the  song  of  its  waterfall  tones, 
Who  speeds  to  the  woodland  walks  ? 
To  birds  and  trees  who  talks  ? 
Caesar  of  his  leafy  Rome, 
There  the  poet  is  at  home. 
He  goes  to  the  river- side,  — 
Not  hook  nor  line  hath  he; 
He  stands  in  the  meadows  wide,  — 
Nor  gun  nor  scythe  to  see. 
Sure  some  god  his  eye  enchants  : 
What  he  knows  nobody  wants. 
In  the  wood  he  travels  glad, 
Without  better  fortune  had, 
Melancholy  without  bad. 
Knowledge  this  man  prizes  best 
Seems  fantastic  to  the  rest : 
Pondering  shadows,  colors,  clouds, 
Grass-buds  and  caterpillar-shrouds, 
Boughs  on  which  the  wild  bees  settle, 
Tints  that  spot  the  violet's  petal, 
Why  Nature  loves  the  number  five, 
And  why  the  star-form  she  repeats : 
Lover  of  all  things  alive, 
Wonderer  at  all  he  meets, 
(55) 


WOODNOTES. 


Wonderer  chiefly  at  himself,  — 
Who  can  tell  him  what  he  is  ? 
Or  how  meet  in  human  elf 
Coming  and  past  eternities  ? 

2. 

And  such  I  knew,  a  forest  seer, 

A  minstrel  of  the  natural  year, 

Foreteller  of  the  vernal  ides, 

Wise  harbinger  of  spheres  and  tides,, 

A  lover  true,  who  knew  by  heart 

Each  joy  the  mountain  dales  impart  ; 

It  seemed  that  Nature  could  not  raise 

A  plant  in  any  secret  place, 

In  quaking  bog,  on  snowy  hill, 

Beneath  the  grass  that  shades  the  rill, 

Under  the  snow,  between  the  rocks, 

In  damp  fields  known  to  bird  and  fox, 

But  he  would  come  in  the  very  hour 

It  opened  in  its  virgin  bower, 

As  if  a  sunbeam  showed  the  place, 

And  tell  its  long-descended  race. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  breezes  brought  him  ; 

It  seemed  as  if  the  sparrows  taught  him  ; 

As  if  by  secret  sight  he  knew 

Where,  in  far  fields,  the  orchis  grew. 

Many  haps  fall  in  the  field 

Seldom  seen  by  wishful  eyes  ; 

But  all  her  shows  did  Nature  yield, 

To  please  and  win  this  pilgrim  wise. 

He  saw  the  partridge  drum  in  the  woods  ; 

He  heard  the  woodcock's  evening  hymn  ; 

He  found  the  tawny  thrushes'  broods  ; 


WOODNOTES. 


57 


And  the  shy  hawk  did  wait  for  him  ; 
What  others  did  at  distance  hear, 
And  guessed  within  the  thicket's  gloom, 
Was  shown  to  this  philosopher, 
And  at  his  bidding  seemed  to  come. 

3. 

In  unploughed  Maine  he  sought  the  lumberer's  gang 
Where  from  a  hundred  lakes  young  rivers  sprang  ; 
He  trode  the  implanted  forest  floor,  whereon 
The  all-seeing  sun  for  ages  hath  not  shone  ; 
Where  feeds  the  moose,  and  walks  the  surly  bear, 
And  up  the  tall  mast  runs  the  woodpecker. 
He  saw  beneath  dim  aisles,  in  odorous  beds, 
The  slight  Linnsea  hang  its  twin-born  heads, 
And  blessed  the  monument  of  the  man  of  flowers, 
Which  breathes  his  sweet  fame  through  the  northern 
bowers. 

He  heard,  when  in  the  grove,  at  intervals, 
With  sudden  roar  ihe  aged  pine-tree  falls, — 
One  crash,  the  death-hymn  of  the  perfect  tree, 
Declares  the  close  of  its  green  century. 
Low  lies  the  plant  to  whose  creation  went 
Sweet  influence  from  every  element  ; 
Whose  living  towers  the  years  conspired  to  build, 
Whose  gidd}r  top  the  morning  loved  to  gild. 
Through  these  green  tents,  by  eldest  Nature  dressed, 
He  roamed,  content  alike  with  man  and  beast. 
Where  darkness  found  him  he  lay  glad  at  night ; 
There  the  red  morning  touched  him  with  its  light. 
Three  moons  his  great  heart  him  a  hermit  made, 
So  long  he  roved  at  will  the  boundless  shade. 
The  timid  it  concerns  to  ask  their  way, 


58 


WOODNOTES. 


And  fear  what  foe  in  caves  and  swamps  can  stray, 
To  make  no  step  until  the  event  is  known, 
And  ills  to  come  as  evils  past  bemoan. 
Not  so  the  wise  ;  no  coward  watch  he  keeps 
To  spy  what  danger  on  his  pathway  creeps  ; 
Go  where  he  will,  the  wise  man  is  at  home, 
His  hearth  the  earth,  —  his  hall  the  azure  dome  ; 
Where  his  clear  spirit  leads  him,  there 's  his  road, 
By  God's  own  light  illumined  and  foreshowed. 

4. 

'Twas  one  of  the  charmed  days 

When  the  genius  of  God  doth  flow, 

The  wind  may  alter  twenty  ways, 

A  tempest  cannot  blow  ; 

It  may  blow  north,  it  still  is  warm  ; 

Or  south,  it  still  is  clear  ; 

Or  east,  it  smells  like  a  clover-farm  ; 

Or  west,  no  thunder  fear. 

The  musing  peasant  lowly  great 

Beside  the  forest  water  sate  ; 

The  rope-like  pine  roots  crosswise  grown 

Composed  the  net-work  of  his  throne  ; 

The  wide  lake,  edged  with  sand  and  grass, 

Was  burnished  to  a  floor  of  glass, 

Painted  with  shadows  green  and  proud 

Of  the  tree  and  of  the  cloud. 

He  was  the  heart  of  all  the  scene  ; 

On  him  the  sun  looked  more  serene  ; 

To  hill  and  cloud  his  face  was  known,  — 

It  seemed  the  likeness  of  their  own  ; 

They  knew  by  secret  sympathy 

The  public  child  of  earth  and  sky. 


WOODNOTES. 


59 


8  You  ask,'  he  said,  '  what  guide 
Me  through  trackless  thickets  led, 
Through  thick-stemmed  woodlands  rough  and 
wide. 

I  found  the  water's  bed. 

The  watercourses  were  my  guide  ; 

I  travelled  grateful  by  their  side, 

Or  through  their  channel  dry  ; 

They  led  me  through  the  thicket  damp, 

Through  brake  and  fern,  the  beavers'  camp. 

Through  beds  of  granite  cut  my  road, 

And  their  resistless  friendship  showed  : 

The  falling  waters  led  me, 

The  foodful  waters  fed  me, 

And  brought  me  to  the  lowest  land, 

Unerring  to  the  ocean  sand. 

The  moss  upon  the  forest  bark 

Was  pole-star  when  the  night  was  dark  ; 

The  purple  berries  in  the  wood 

Supplied  me  necessary  food  ; 

For  Nature  ever  faithful  is 

To  such  as  trust  her  faithfulness. 

When  the  forest  shall  mislead  me, 

When  the  night  and  morning  lie, 

When  sea  and  land  refuse  to  feed  me, 

'T  will  be  time  enough  to  die  ; 

Then  will  yet  my  mother  yield 

A  pillow  in  her  greenest  field, 

Nor  the  June  flowers  scorn  to  cover 

The  clay  of  their  departed  lover.' 


WOODNOTES. 


II. 

As  sunbeams  stream  through  liberal  space 
And  nothing  jostle  or  displace, 
So  waved  the  pine-tree  through  my  thought 
And  fanned  the  dreams  it  never  brought. 

6  Whether  is  better,  the  gift  or  the  donor  ? 

Come  to  me,' 

Quoth  the  pine-tree, 
6 1  am  the  giver  of  honor. 

My  garden  is  the  cloven  rock, 

And  my  manure  the  snow  ; 

And  drifting  sand-heaps  feed  my  stock, 

In  summer's  scorching  glow. 

He  is  great  who  can  live  by  me. 

The  rough  and  bearded  forester 

Is  better  than  the  lord  ; 

God  fills  the  scrip  and  canister, 

Sin  piles  the  loaded  board. 

The  lord  is  the  peasant  that  was, 

The  peasant  the  lord  that  shall  be  ; 

The  lord  is  hay,  the  peasant  grass, 

One  dry,  and  one  the  living  tree. 

Who  liveth  by  the  ragged  pine 

Foundeth  a  heroic  line  ; 

Who  liveth  in  the  palace  hall 

Waneth  fast  and  spendeth  all. 

He  goes  to  my  savage  haunts, 

With  his  chariot  and  his  care  ; 

(60) 


WOODNOTES. 


My  twilight  realm  he  disenchants, 
And  finds  his  prison  there. 

6  What  prizes  the  town  and  the  tower  ? 
Only  what  the  pine-tree  yields  ; 
Sinew  that  subdued  the  fields  ; 
The  wild-eyed  boy,  who  in  the  woods 
Chants  his  hymn  to  hills  and  floods, 
Whom  the  city's  poisoning  spleen 
Made  not  pale,  or  fat,  or  lean  ; 
Whom  the  rain  and  the  wind  purgeth, 
Whom  the  dawn  and  the  day-star  urgeth, 
In  whose  cheek  the  rose-leaf  blusheth, 
In  whose  feet  the  lion  rusheth, 
Iron  arms,  and  iron  mould, 
That  know  not  fear,  fatigue,  or  cold. 
I  give  my  rafters  to  his  boat, 
My  billets  to  his  boiler's  throat, 
And  I  will  swim  the  ancient  sea 
To  float  my  child  to  victory, 
And  grant  to  dwellers  with  the  pine 
Dominion  o'er  the  palm  and  vine. 
Who  leaves  the  pine-tree,  leaves  his  friend, 
Unnerves  his  strength,  invites  his  end. 
Cut  a  bough  from  my  parent  stem, 
And  dip  it  in  thy  porcelain  vase  ; 
A  little  while  each  russet  gem 
Will  swell  and  rise  with  wonted  grace ; 
But  when  it  seeks  enlarged  supplies, 
The  orphan  of  the  forest  dies. 
Whoso  walks  in  solitude 
And  inhabiteth  the  wood, 
Choosing  light,  wave,  rock  and  bird, 


WOODNOTES. 


Before  the  money-loving  herd, 
Into  that  forester  shall  pass, 
From  these  companions,  power  and  grace. 
Clean  shall  he  be,  without,  within, 
From  the  old  adhering  sin, 
All  ill  dissolving  in  the  light 
Of  his  triumphant  piercing  sight ; 
Not  vain,  sour,  nor  frivolous ; 
Not  mad,  athirst,  nor  garrulous  ; 
Grave,  chaste,  contented,  though  retired, 
And  of  all  other  men  desired. 
On  him  the  light  of  star  and  moon 
Shall  fall  with  purer  radiance  down  ; 
All  constellations  of  the  sky- 
Shed  their  virtue  through  his  eye. 
Him  Nature  giveth  for  defence 
His  formidable  innocence  ; 
The  mounting  sap,  the  shells,  the  sea, 
All  spheres,  all  stones,  his  helpers  be  ; 
He  shall  meet  the  speeding  year, 
Without  wailing,  without  fear  ; 
He  shall  be  happy  in  his  love, 
Like  to  like  shall  joyful  prove  ; 
He  shall  be  happy  whilst  he  wooes, 
Muse-born,  a  daughter  of  the  Muse. 
But  if  with  gold  she  bind  her  hair, 
And  deck  her  breast  with  diamond, 
Take  off  thine  eyes,  thy  heart  forbear, 
Though  thou  lie  alone  on  the  ground. 

*  Heed  the  old  oracles, 
Ponder  my  spells  ; 
Song  wakes  in  my  pinnacles 


WOODNOTES. 


When  the  wind  swells. 

Soundeth  the  prophetic  wind, 

The  shadows  shake  on  the  rock  behind, 

And  the  countless  leaves  of  the  pine  are  strings 

Tuned  to  the  lay  the  wood-god  sings. 

Hearken  !    Hearken  ! 
If  thou  wouldst  know  the  mystic  song 
Chanted  when  the  sphere  was  young. 
Aloft,  abroad,  the  psean  swells  ; 
O  wise  man  !  hear'st  thou  half  it  tells  ? 
O  wise  man  !  hear'st  thou  the  least  part  ? 
'T  is  the  chronicle  of  art. 
To  the  open  ear  it  sings 
Sweet  the  genesis  of  things, 
Of  tendency  through  endless  ages, 
Of  star-dust,  and  star-pilgrimages, 
Of  rounded  worlds,  of  space  and  time, 
Of  the  old  flood's  subsiding  slime, 
Of  chemic  matter,  force  and  form, 
Of  poles  and  powers,  cold,  wet  and  warm  : 
The  rushing  metamorphosis 
Dissolving  all  that  fixture  is, 
Melts  things  that  be  to  things  that  seem9 
And  solid  nature  to  a  dream. 
O,  listen  to  the  undersong, 
The  ever  old,  the  ever  young  ; 
And,  far  within  those  cadent  pauses^ 
The  chorus  of  the  ancient  Causes  ! 
Delights  the  dreadful  Destiny 
To  fling  his  voice  into  the  tree, 
And  shock  thy  weak  ear  with  a  note 
Breathed  from  the  everlasting  throat. 
In  music  he  repeats  the  pang 


64 


WOODNOTES. 


Whence  the  fair  flock  of  Nature  sprang. 
O  mortal  !  thy  ears  are  stones  ; 
These  echoes  are  laden  with  tones 
Which  only  the  pure  can  hear  ; 
Thou  canst  not  catch  what  they  recite 
Of  Fate  and  Will,  of  Want  and  Right,- 
Of  man  to  come,  of  human  life, 
Of  Death  and  Fortune,  Growth  and  Strife/ 

Once  again  the  pine-tree  sung :  — 
6  Speak  not  thy  speech  my  boughs  among  : 

Put  off  thy  years,  wash  in  the  breeze  ; 

My  hours  are  peaceful  centuries. 

Talk  no  more  with  feeble  tongue  ; 

No  more  the  fool  of  space  and  time, 

Come  weave  with  mine  a  nobler  rhyme. 

Only  thy  Americans 

Can  read  thy  line,  can  meet  thy  glance, 

But  the  runes  that  I  rehearse 

Understands  the  universe  ; 

The  least  breath  my  boughs  which  tossed 

Brings  again  the  Pentecost  ; 

To  every  soul  resounding  clear 

In  a  voice  of  solemn  cheer,  — 
"  Am  I  not  thine  ?    Are  not  these  thine  ?  " 

And  they  reply,  "  Forever  mine  !  " 

My  branches  speak  Italian, 

English,  German,  Basque,  Castilian, 

Mountain  speech  to  Highlanders, 

Ocean  tongues  to  islanders, 

To  Fin  and  Lap  and  swart  Malay, 

To  each  his  bosom-secret  say. 


WOODNOTES. 


*  Come  learn  with  me  the  fatal  song 
Which  knits  the  world  in  music  strong, 
Come  lift  thine  eyes  to  lofty  rhymes, 
Of  things  with  tilings,  of  times  with  times, 
Primal  chimes  of  sun  and  shade, 
Of  sound  and  echo,  man  and  maid, 
The  land  reflected  in  the  flood, 
Body  with  shadow  still  pursued. 
For  Nature  beats  in  perfect  tune, 
And  rounds  with  rhyme  her  every  rune, 
Whether  she  work  in  land  or  sea, 
Or  hide  underground  her  alchemy. 
Thou  canst  not  wave  thy  staff  in  air, 
Or  dip  thy  paddle  in  the  lake, 
But  it  carves  the  bow  of  beauty  there, 
And  the  ripples  in  rhymes  the  oar  forsake. 
The  wood  is  wiser  far  than  thou  ; 
The  wood  and  wave  each  other  know 
Not  unrelated,  unaffied, 
But  to  each  thought  and  thing  allied, 
Is  perfect  Nature's  every  part, 
Rooted  in  the  mighty  Heart. 
But  thou,  poor  child  !  unbound,  unrhymed, 
Whence  earnest  thou,  misplaced,  mistimed, 
Whence,  O  thou  orphan  and  defrauded  ? 
Is  thy  land  peeled,  thy  realm  marauded  ? 
Who  thee  divorced,  deceived  and  left  ? 
Thee  of  thy  faith  who  hath  bereft, 
And  torn  the  ensigns  from  thy  brow, 
And  sunk  the  immortal  eye  so  low  ? 
Thy  cheek  too  white,  thy  form  too  slender, 
Thy  gait  too  slow,  thy  habits  tender 
5 


WOODNOTES. 


For  royal  man  ;  —  they  thee  confess 

An  exile  from  the  wilderness,  — 

The  hills  where  health  with  health  agrees, 

And  the  wise  soul  expels  disease. 

Hark  !  in  thy  ear  I  will  tell  the  sign 

By  which  thy  hurt  thou  may'st  divine. 

When  thou  shalt  climb  the  mountain  cliff, 

Or  see  the  wide  shore  from  thy  skiff, 

To  thee  the  horizon  shall  express 

But  emptiness  on  emptiness  ; 

There  lives  no  man  of  Nature's  worth 

In  the  circle  of  the  earth  ; 

And  to  thine  eye  the  vast  skies  fall, 

Dire  and  satirical, 

On  clucking'  hens  and  prating  fools, 

On  thieves,  on  drudges  and  on  dolls. 

And  thou  shalt  say  to  the  Most  High, 

4  Godhead  !  all  this  astronomy, 

And  fate  and  practice  and  invention, 

Strong  art  and  beautiful  pretension, 

This  radiant  pomp  of  sun  and  star, 

Throes  that  were,  and  worlds  that  are, 

Behold  !  were  in  vain  and  in  vain  ;  — 

It  cannot  be,  —  I  will  look  again. 

Surely  now  will  the  curtain  rise, 

And  earth's  fit  tenant  me  surprise  ;  — 

But  the  curtain  doth  not  rise, 

And  Nature  has  miscarried  wholly 

Into  failure,  into  folly." 

'Alas  !  thine  is  the  bankruptcy, 
Blessed  Nature  so  to  see. 


WOODNOTES. 


67 


Come,  lay  thee  in  my  soothing  shade, 

And  heal  the  hurts  which  sin  has  made. 

I  see  thee  in  the  crowd  alone  ; 

I  will  be  thy  companion. 

Quit  thy  friends  as  the  dead  in  doom, 

And  build  to  them  a  final  tomb  ; 

Let  the  starred  shade  that  nightly  falls 

Still  celebrate  their  funerals, 

And  the  bell  of  beetle  and  of  bee 

Knell  their  melodious  memory. 

Behind  thee  leave  thy  merchandise, 

Thy  churches  and  thy  charities  ; 

And  leave  thy  peacock  wit  behind  ; 

Enough  for  thee  the  primal  mind 

That  flows  in  streams,  that  breathes  in  wind  ; 

Leave  all  thy  pedant  lore  apart ; 

God  hid  the  whole  world  in  thy  heart. 

Love  shuns  the  sage,  the  child  it  crowns, 

Gives  all  to  them  who  all  renounce. 

The  rain  comes  when  the  wind  calls  ; 

The  river  knows  the  way  to  the  sea  ; 

Without  a  pilot  it  runs  and  falls, 

Blessing  all  lands  with  its  charity  ; 

The  sea  tosses  and  foams  to  find 

Its  way  up  to  the  cloud  and  wind  ; 

The  shadow  sits  close  to  the  flying  ball ; 

The  date  fails  not  on  the  palm-tree  tall ; 

And  thou,  —  go  burn  thy  wormy  pages,  — 

Shalt  outsee  seers,  and  outwit  sages. 

Oft  didst  thou  thread  the  woods  in  vain 

To  find  what  bird  had  piped  the  strain  ;  — 

Seek  not,  and  the  little  eremite 

Flies  gayly  forth  and  sings  in  sight. 


68 


WOODNOTES. 


<  Hearken  once  more  ! 
I  will  tell  thee  the  mundane  lore. 
Older  am  I  than  thy  numbers  wot, 
Change  I  may,  but  I  pass  not. 
Hitherto  all  things  fast  abide, 
And  anchored  in  the  tempest  ride. 
Trenchant  time  behoves  to  hurry 
All  to  yean  and  all  to  bury  : 
All  the  forms  are  fugitive, 
But  the  substances  survive. 
Ever  fresh  the  broad  creation, 
A  divine  improvisation, 
From  the  heart  of  God  proceeds, 
A  single  will,  a  million  deeds. 
Once  slept  the  world  an  egg  of  stone, 
And  pulse,  and  sound,  and  light  was  none  ; 
And  God  said,  "  Throb  !  "  and  there  was  motion 
And  the  vast  mass  became  vast  ocean. 
Onward  and  on,  the  eternal  Pan, 
Who  layeth  the  world's  incessant  plan, 
Halteth  never  in  one  shape, 
But  forever  doth  escape, 
Like  wave  or  flame,  into  new  forms 
Of  gem,  and  air,  of  plants,  and  worms. 
I,  that  to-day  am  a  pine, 
Yesterday  was  a  bundle  of  grass. 
He  is  free  and  libertine, 
Pouring  of  his  power  the  wine 
To  every  age,  to  every  race  ; 
Unto  every  race  and  age 
He  emptieth  the  beverage  ; 
Unto  each,  and  unto  all, 
Maker  and  original. 


WOODNOTES. 


The  world  is  the  ring  of  his  spells, 

And  the  play  of  his  miracles. 

As  he  giveth  to  all  to  drink, 

Thus  or  thus  they  are  and  think. 

With  one  drop  sheds  form  and  feature  ; 

With  the  next  a  special  nature  ; 

The  third  adds  heat's  indulgent  spark  ; 

The  fourth  gives  light  which  eats  the  dark  ; 

Into  the  fifth  himself  he  flings, 

And  conscious  Law  is  King  of  kings. 

As  the  bee  through  the  garden  ranges, 

From  world  to  world  the  godhead  changes  ; 

As  the  sheep  go  feeding  in  the  waste, 

From  form  to  form  He  maketh  haste  ; 

This  vault  which  glows  immense  with  light 

Is  the  inn  where  he  lodges  for  a  night. 

What  recks  such  Traveller  if  the  bowers 

Which  bloom  and  fade  like  meadow  flowers 

A  bunch  of  fragrant  lilies  be, 

Or  the  stars  of  eternity  ? 

Alike  to  him  the  better,  the  worse,  — 

The  glowing  angel,  the  outcast  corse. 

Thou  metest  him  by  centuries, 

And  lo  !  he  passes  like  the  breeze  ; 

Thou  seek'st  in  globe  and  galaxy, 

He  hides  in  pure  transparency  ; 

Thou  askest  in  fountains  and  in  fires, 

He  is  the  essence  that  inquires. 

He  is  the  axis  of  the  star  ; 

He  is  the  sparkle  of  the  spar  ; 

He  is  the  heart  of  every  creature  ; 

He  is  the  meaning  of  each  feature ; 

And  his  mind  is  the  sky, 

Than  all  it  holds  more  deep,  more  high.' 


MOKADNOC. 


Thousand  minstrels  woke  within  me, 

'  Our  music 's  in  the  hills  ; '  — 
Gayest  pictures  rose  to  win  me, 

Leopard-colored  rills. 
*  Up  !  —  If  thou  knew'st  who  calls 
To  twilight  parks  of  beech  and  pine, 
High  over  the  river  intervals, 
Above  the  ploughman's  highest  line, 
Over  the  owner's  farthest  walls  ! 
Up  !  where  the  airy  citadel 
O'erlooks  the  surging  landscape's  swell ! 
Let  not  unto  the  stones  the  Day 
Her  lily  and  rose,  her  sea  and  land  display. 
Read  the  celestial  sign  ! 
Lo  !  the  south  answers  to  the  north  ; 
Bookworm,  break  this  sloth  urbane  ; 
A  greater  spirit  bids  thee  forth 
Than  the  gray  dreams  which  thee  detain. 
Mark  how  the  climbing  Oreads 
Beckon  thee  to  their  arcades  ; 
Youth,  for  a  moment  free  as  they, 
Teach  thy  feet  to  feel  the  ground, 
Ere  yet  arrives  the  wintry  day 
When  Time  thy  feet  has  bound. 
Take  the  bounty  of  thy  birth, 
Taste  the  lordship  of  the  earth/ 

I  heard,  and  I  obeyed,  — 
Assured  that  he  who  made  the  claim, 
(70) 


MONADNOC. 


Well  known,  but  loving  not  a  name, 

Was  not  to  be  gainsaid. 
Ere  yet  the  summoning  voice  was  still, 
I  turned  to  Cheshire's  haughty  hill. 
From  the  fixed  cone  the  cloud-rack  flowed 
Like  ample  banner  flung  abroad 
To  all  the  dwellers  in  the  plains 
Round  about,  a  hundred  miles, 
With  salutation  to  the  sea  and  to  the  border 
isles. 

In  his  own  loom's  garment  dressed, 
By  his  proper  bounty  blessed, 
Fast  abides  this  constant  giver, 
Pouring  many  a  cheerful  river  ; 
To  far  eyes,  an  serial  isle 
Unploughed,  which  finer  spirits  pile, 
Which  morn  and  crimson  evening  paint 
For  bard,  for  lover  and  for  saint  ; 
An  eyemark  and  the  country's  core, 
Inspirer,  prophet  evermore  ; 
Pillar  which  God  aloft  had  set 
So  that  men  might  it  not  forget  ; 
It  should  be  their  life's  ornament, 
And  mix  itself  with  each  event ; 
Gauge  and  calendar  and  dial, 
Weatherglass  and  chemic  phial, 
Garden  of  berries,  perch  of  birds, 
Pasture  of  pool-haunting  herds, 
Graced  by  each  change  of  sum  untold, 
Earth-baking  heat,  stone-cleaving  cold. 

The  Titan  heeds  his  sky-affairs, 
Rich  rents  and  wide  alliance  shares  ; 


MONADNOC. 


Mysteries  of  color  daily  laid 
By  morn  and  eve  in  light  and  shade  ; 
And  sweet  varieties  of  chance, 
And  the  mystic  seasons'  dance  ; 
And  thief-like  step  of  liberal  hours 
Thawing-  snow-drift  into  flowers. 
0,  wondrous  craft  of  plant  and  stone 
By  eldest  science  wrought  and  shown  ! 

c  Happy,'  I  said,  6  whose  home  is  here  ! 
Fair  fortunes  to  the  mountaineer  ! 
Boon  Xature  to  his  poorest  shed 
Has  royal  pleasure-grounds  outspread.9 
Intent,  I  searched  the  region  round, 
And  in  low  hut  the  dweller  found  : 
Woe  is  me  for  my  hope's  downfall  I 
Is  yonder  squalid  peasant  all 
That  this  proud  nursery  could  breed 
Fo.-  God's  vicegerency  and  stead  ? 
Time  out  of  mind,  this  forge  of  ores  ; 
Quarry  of  spars  in  mountain  pores  ; 
Old  cradle,  hunting-ground  and  bier 
Of  wolf  and  otter,  bear  and  deer  ; 
Well-built  abode  of  many  a  race  ; 
Tower  of  observance  searching  space  ; 
Factory  of  river  and  of  rain  ; 
Link  in  the  alps'  globe-girding  chain  ; 
By  million  changes  skilled  to  tell 
What  in  the  Eternal  standeth  well, 
And  what  obedient  Xature  can  ;  — 
Is  this  colossal  talisman 
Kindly  to  plant  and  blood  and  kind, 
But  speechless  to  the  master's  mind  ? 


MONADNOC. 


I  thought  to  find  the  patriots 
In  whom  the  stock  of  freedom  roots  ; 
To  myself  I  oft  recount 
Tales  of  many  a  famous  mount,  — 
Wales,  Scotland,  Uri,  Hungary's  dells  ; 
Bards,  Roys,  Scanderbegs  and  Tells  ; 
And  think  how  Nature  in  these  towers 
Uplifted  shall  condense  her  powers, 
And  lifting  man  to  the  blue  deep 
Where  stars  their  perfect  courses  keep, 
Like  wise  preceptor,  lure  his  eye 
To  sound  the  science  of  the  sky, 
And  carry  learning  to  its  height 
Of  untried  power  and  sane  delight  : 
The  Indian  cheer,  the  frosty  skies, 
Rear  purer  wits,  inventive  eyes,  — 
Eyes  that  frame  cities  where  none  be, 
And  hands  that  stablish  what  these  see 
And  by  the  moral  of  his  place 
Hint  summits  of  heroic  grace  ; 
Man  in  these  crags  a  fastness  find 
To  fight  pollution  of  the  mind  ; 
In  the  wide  thaw  and  ooze  of  wrong, 
Adhere  like  this  foundation  strong, 
The  insanity  of  towns  to  stem 
With  simpleness  for  stratagem. 
But  if  the  brave  old  mould  is  broke, 
And  end  in  churls  the  mountain  folk 
In  tavern  cheer  and  tavern  joke, 
Sink,  O  mountain,  in  the  swamp  ! 
Hide  in  thy  skies,  O  sovereign  lamp  ! 
Perish  like  leaves,  the  highland  breed 
No  sire  survive,  no  son  succeed  ! 


MONADNOC. 


Soft  !  let  not  the  offended  muse 
Toil's  hard  hap  with  scorn  accuse. 
Many  hamlets  sought  I  then, 
Many  farms  of  mountain  men. 
Rallying  round  a  parish  steeple, 
Nestle  warm  the  highland  people, 
Coarse  and  boisterous,  yet  mild, 
Strong  as  giant,  slow  as  child. 
Sweat  and  season  are  their  arts, 
Their  talismans  are  ploughs  and  carts  ; 
And  well  the  youngest  can  command 
Honey  from  the  frozen  land  ; 
With  cloverheads  the  swamp  adorn, 
Change  the  running  sand  to  corn  ; 
For  wolf  and  fox,  bring  lowing  herds, 
And  for  cold  mosses,  cream  and  curds  : 
Weave  wood  to  canisters  and  mats  ; 

Drain  sweet  maple  juice  in  vats. 

No  bird  is  safe  that  cuts  the  air 

From  their  rifle  or  their  snare  ; 

No  fish,  in  river  or  in  lake, 

But  their  long  hands  it  thence  will  take  ; 

Whilst  the  country's  flinty  face, 

Like  wax,  their  fashioning  skill  betrays, 

To  fill  the  hollows,  sink  the  hills, 

Bridge  gulfs,  drain  swamps,  build  dams  and  mills, 

And  fit  the  bleak  and  howling  waste 

For  homes  of  virtue,  sense  and  taste. 

The  World-soul  knows  his  own  affair, 

Forelooking,  when  he  would  prepare 

For  the  next  ages,  men  of  mould 

Well  embodied,  well  ensouled, 

He  cools  the  present's  fiery  glow, 


MONADNOC. 


75 


Sets  the  life-pulse  strong  but  slow  : 

Bitter  winds  and  fasts  austere 

His  quarantines  and  grottoes,  where 

He  slowly  cures  decrepit  flesh, 

And  brings  it  infantile  and  fresh. 

Toil  and  tempest  are  the  toys 

And  games  to  breathe  his  stalwart  boys  : 

They  bide  their  time,  and  well  can  prove, 

If  need  were,  their  line  from  Jove  ; 

Of  the  same  stuff,  and  so  allayed, 

As  that  whereof  the  sun  is  made, 

And  of  the  fibre,  quick  and  strong, 

Whose  throbs  are  love,  whose  thrills  are  song. 

Now  in  sordid  weeds  they  sleep, 
In  dulness  now  their  secret  keep  ; 
Yet,  will  you  learn  our  ancient  speech, 
These  the  masters  who  can  teach. 
Fourscore  or  a  hundred  words 
All  their  vocal  muse  affords  ; 
But  they  turn  them  in  a  fashion 
Past  clerks'  or  statesmen's  art  or  passion. 
I  can  spare  the  college  bell, 
And  the  learned  lecture,  well  ; 
Spare  the  clergy  and  libraries, 
Institutes  and  dictionaries, 
For  that  hardy  English  root 
Thrives  here,  unvalued,  underfoot. 
Rude  poets  of  the  tavern  hearth, 
Squandering  your  unquoted  mirth, 
Which  keeps  the  ground  and  never  soars, 
While  Jake  retorts  and  Reuben  roars  ; 
Scoff  of  yeoman  strong  and  stark, 


MONADNOC. 


Goes  like  bullet  to  its  mark  : 
While  the  solid  curse  and  jeer 
Never  balk  the  waiting  ear. 

On  the  summit  as  I  stood, 
O'er  the  floor  of  plain  and  flood, 
Seemed  to  me,  the  towering  hil] 
Was  not  altogether  still, 
But  a  quiet  sense  conveyed  : 
If  I  err  not,  thus  it  said  :  — 

1 Many  feet  in  summer  seek, 
Oft,  my  far-appearing  peak  ; 
In  the  dreaded  winter  time, 
None  save  dappling  shadows  climb, 
Under  clouds,  my  lonely  head, 
Old  as  the  sun,  old  almost  as  the  shade  : 
And  comest  thou 

To  see  strange  forests  and  new  snow, 

And  tread  uplifted  land  ? 

And  leavest  thou  thy  lowland  race, 

Here  amid  clouds  to  stand  ? 

And  wouldst  be  my  companion 

Where  I  gaze,  and  still  shall  gaze, 

Through  tempering  nights  and  flashing  days, 

When  forests  fall,  and  man  is  gone, 

Over  tribes  and  over  times, 

At  the  burning  Lyre, 

Nearing  me, 

With  its  stars  of  northern  fire, 
In  many  a  thousand  years  ? 

'  Gentle  pilgrim,  if  thou  know 
The  gamut  old  of  Pan, 


MONADNOC. 


And  how  the  hills  began, 
The  frank  blessings  of  the  hill 
Fall  on  thee,  as  fall  they  will. 

*  Let  him  heed  who  can  and  will ; 
Enchantment  fixed  me  here 

To  stand  the  hurts  of  time,  until 
In  mightier  chant  I  disappear. 

If  thou  trowest 
How  the  chemic  eddies  play, 
Pole  to  pole,  and  what  they  say  ; 
And  that  these  gray  crags 
Not  on  crags  are  hung, 
But  beads  are  of  a  rosary 
On  prayer  and  music  strung  ; 
And,  credulous,  through  the  granite  seeming, 
Seest  the  smile  of  Reason  beaming  ;  — 
Can  thy  style-discerning  eye 
The  hidden- working  Builder  spy, 
Who  builds,  yet  makes  no  chips,  no  din, 
With  hammer  soft  as  snowflake's  flight ;  — 
Knowest  thou  this  ? 
O  pilgrim,  wandering  not  amiss  ! 
Already  my  rocks  lie  light, 
And  soon  my  cone  will  spin. 

*  For  the  world  was  built  in  order, 
And  the  atoms  march  in  tune  ; 
Rhyme  the  pipe,  and  Time  the  warder, 
The  sun  obeys  them  and  the  moon. 
Orb  and  atom  forth  they  prance, 
When  they  hear  from  far  the  rune  ; 
None  so  backward  in  the  troop, 


MONADNOC. 


When  the  music  and  the  dance 
Reach  his  place  and  circumstance, 
But  knows  the  sun-creating  sound, 
And,  though  a  pyramid,  will  bound. 

6  Monadnoc  is  a  mountain  strong, 
Tall  and  good  my  kind  among  ; 
But  well  I  know,  no  mountain  call, 
Zion  or  Meru,  measure  with  man. 
For  it  is  on  zodiacs  writ, 
Adamant  is  soft  to  wit  : 
And  when  the  greater  comes  again 
With  my  secret  in  his  brain, 
I  shall  pass,  as  glides  my  shadow 
Daily  over  hill  and  meadow. 

i  Through  all  time,  in  light,  in  gloom 
Well  I  hear  the  approaching  feet 
On  the  flinty  pathway  beat 
Of  him  that  cometh,  and  shall  come  ; 
Of  him  who  shall  as  lightly  bear 
My  daily  load  of  woods  and  streams, 
As  doth  this  round  sky-cleaving  boat 
Which  never  strains  its  rocky  beams  : 
Whose  timbers,  as  they  silent  float, 
Alps  and  Caucasus  uprear, 
And  the  long  Alleghanies  here, 
And  all  town-sprinkled  lands  that  be, 
Sailing  through  stars  with  all  their  history. 

'  Every  morn  I  lift  my  head, 
See  New  England  underspread, 
South  from  Saint  Lawrence  to  the  Sound, 


MONADNOC. 


From  Katskill  east  to  the  sea-bound. 

Anchored  fast  for  many  an  age, 

I  await  the  bard  and  sage, 

Who,  in  large  thoughts,  like  fair  pearl-seed, 

Shall  string  Monadnoc  like  a  bead. 

Comes  that  cheerful  troubadour, 

This  mound  shall  throb  his  face  before, 

As  when,  with  inward  fires  and  pain, 

It  rose  a  bubble  from  the  plain. 

When  he  cometh,  I  shall  shed, 

From  this  wellspring  in  my  head, 

Fountain-drop  of  spicier  worth 

Than  all  vintage  of  the  earth. 

There 's  fruit  upon  my  barren  soil 

Costlier  far  than  wine  or  oil. 

There 's  a  berry  blue  and  gold,  — 

Autumn-ripe,  its  juices  hold 

Sparta's  stoutness,  Bethlehem's  heart, 

Asia's  rancor,  Athens'  art, 

Slowsure  Britain's  secular  might, 

And  the  German's  inward  sight. 

I  will  give  my  son  to  eat 

Best  of  Pan's  immortal  meat, 

Bread  to  eat,  and  juice  to  drain  ; 

So  the  coinage  of  his  brain 

Shall  not  be  forms  of  stars,  but  stars, 

Nor  pictures  pale,  but  Jove  and  Mars. 

He  comes,  but  not  of  that  race  bred 

Who  daily  climb  my  specular  head. 

Oft  as  morning  wreathes  my  scarf, 

Fled  the  last  plumule  of  the  Dark, 

Pants  up  hither  the  spruce  clerk 

From  South  Cove  and  City  Wharf. 


MONADNOC. 


I  take  him  up  my  rugged  sides, 
Half -repent  ant,  scant  of  breath,  — 
Bead-eyes  my  granite  chaos  show, 
And  my  midsummer  snow  ; 
Open  the  daunting  map  beneath,  — 
All  his  county,  sea  and  land, 
Dwarfed  to  measure  of  his  hand  ; 
His  day's  ride  is  a  furlong  space, 
His  city-tops  a  glimmering  haze. 
I  plant  his  eyes  on  the  sky-hoop  bounding  ; 
u  See  there  the  grim  gray  rounding 
Of  the  bullet  of  the  earth 
Whereon  ye  sail, 
Tumbling  steep 
In  the  uncontinented  deep." 
He  looks  on  that,  and  he  turns  pale. 
'T  is  even  so,  this  treacherous  kite 
Farm-furrowed,  town-incrusted  sphere, 
Thoughtless  of  its  anxious  freight, 
Plunges  eyeless  on  forever  ; 
And  he,  poor  parasite, 
Cooped  in  a  ship  he  cannot  steer,  — 
Who  is  the  captain  he  knows  not, 
Port  or  pilot  trows  not,  — 
Risk  or  ruin  he  must  share. 
I  scowl  on  him  with  my  cloud, 
With  my  north  wind  chill  his  blood  ; 
I  lame  him,  clattering  down  the  rocks  ; 
And  to  live  he  is  in  fear. 
Then,  at  last,  I  let  him  down 
Once  more  into  his  dapper  town, 
To  chatter,  frightened,  to  his  clan 
And  forget  ine  if  he  can.' 


MONADNOC. 


81 


As  in  the  old  poetic  fame 

The  gods  are  blind  and  lame, 

And  the  simular  despite 

Betrays  the  more  abounding  might. 

So  call  not  waste  that  barren  cone 

Above  the  floral  zone, 

Where  forests  starve  : 

It  is  pure  use  ;  — 

What  sheaves  like  those  which  here  we  glean  and  bind 
Of  a  celestial  Ceres  and  the  Muse  ? 

Ages  are  thy  days, 

Thou  grand  affirmer  of  the  present  tense, 

And  type  of  permanence  ! 

Firm  ensign  of  the  fatal  Being, 

Amid  these  coward  shapes  of  joy  and  grief, 

That  will  not  bide  the  seeing  ! 

Hither  we  bring 

Our  insect  miseries  to  thy  rocks  ; 

And  the  whole  flight,  with  folded  wing, 

Vanish,  and  end  their  murmuring,  — 

Vanish  beside  these  dedicated  blocks. 

Which  who  can  tell  what  mason  laid  ? 

Spoils  of  a  front  none  need  restore, 

Replacing  frieze  and  architrave  ;  — 

Where  flowers  each  stone  rosette  and  metope  brave  ; 

Still  is  the  haughty  pile  erect 

Of  the  old  building  Intellect. 

Complement  of  human  kind, 
Holding  us  at  vantage  still, 
Our  sumptuous  indigence, 
6 


MONADNOC. 


O  barren  mound,  thy  plenties  fill ! 

We  fool  and  prate  ; 

Thou  art  silent  and  sedate. 

To  myriad  kinds  and  times  one  sense 

The  constant  mountain  doth  dispense  ; 

Shedding  on  all  its  snows  and  leaves, 

One  joy  it  joys,  one  grief  it  grieves. 

Thou  seest,  O  watchman  tall, 

Our  towns  and  races  grow  and  fall, 

And  imagest  the  stable  good 

For  which  we  all  our  lifetime  grope, 

In  shifting  form  the  formless  mind, 

And  though  the  substance  us  elude, 

We  in  thee  the  shadow  find. 

Thou,  in  our  astronomy 

An  opaker  star, 

Seen  haply  from  afar, 

Above  the  horizon's  hoop, 

A  moment,  by  the  railway  troop, 

As  o'er  some  bolder  height  they  speed, 

By  circumspect  ambition, 

By  errant  gain, 

By  f easters  and  the  frivolous,  — 

Recallest  us, 

And  makest  sane. 

Mute  orator  !  well  skilled  to  plead, 

And  send  conviction  without  phrase, 

Thou  dost  succor  and  remede 

The  shortness  of  our  days, 

And  promise,  on  thy  Founder's  truth, 

Long  morrow  to  this  mortal  youth. 


FABLE. 

The  mountain  and  the  squirrel 
Had  a  quarrel, 

And  the  former  called  the  latter  6  Little  Prig  ; ' 
Bun  replied, 

*  You  are  doubtless  very  big  ; 
But  al]  sorts  of  things  and  weather 
Must  be  taken  in  together, 
To  make  up  a  year 
And  a  sphere. 
And  I  think  it  no  disgrace 
To  occupy  my  place. 
If  I 'm  not  so  large  as  you, 
You  are  not  so  small  as  I, 
And  not  half  so  spry. 
I  '11  not  deny  you  make 
A  very  pretty  squirrel  track  ; 
Talents  differ  ;  all  is  well  and  wisely  put ; 
If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back, 
Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut.' 

(83) 


ODE. 


INSCRIBED  TO  W.  H.  CHANNINGo 

Though  loath  to  grieve 
The  evil  time's  sole  patriot, 
I  cannot  leave 
My  honeyed  thought 
For  the  priest's  cant, 
Or  statesman's  rant. 

If  I  refuse 

My  study  for  their  politique, 
Which  at  the  best  is  trick, 
The  angry  Muse 
Puts  confusion  in  my  brain. 

But  who  is  he  that  prates 
Of  the  culture  of  mankind, 
Of  better  arts  and  life  ? 
Go,  blindworm,  go, 
Behold  the  famous  States 
Harrying  Mexico 
With  rifle  and  with  knife  ! 

Or  who,  with  accent  bolder, 

Dare  praise  the  freedom-loving  mountaineer  ? 

I  found  by  thee,  O  rushing  Contoocook  ! 

And  in  thy  valleys,  Agiochook  ! 

The  jackals  of  the  negro-holder. 

(84) 


ODE. 


The  God  who  made  New  Hampshire 

Taunted  the  lofty  land 

With  little  men  ;  — 

Small  bat  and  wren 

House  in  the  oak  :  — 

If  earth-fire  cleave 

The  upheaved  land,  and  bury  the  folk, 
The  southern  crocodile  would  grieve. 
Virtue  palters  ;  Right  is  hence  ; 
Freedom  praised,  but  hid  ; 
Funeral  eloquence 
Pvattles  the  coffin-lid. 

What  boots  thy  zeal, 
O  glowing  friend, 
That  would  indignant  rend 
The  northland  from  the  south  ? 
Wherefore  ?  to  what  good  end  ? 
Boston  Bay  and  Bunker  Hill 
Would  serve  things  still  ;  — 
Things  are  of  the  snake. 

The  horseman  serves  the  horse, 
The  neatherd  serves  the  neat, 
The  merchant  serves  the  purse, 
The  eater  serves  his  meat  ; 
'T  is  the  day  of  the  chattel, 
Web  to  weave,  and  corn  to  grind  ; 
Things  are  in  the  saddle, 
And  ride  mankind. 

There  are  two  laws  discrete, 
Not  reconciled,  — 


ODE. 


Law  for  man,  and  law  for  thing  ; 
The  last  builds  town  and  fleet, 
But  it  runs  wild, 
And  doth  the  man  unking. 

'T  is  fit  the  forest  f aU, 
The  steep  be  graded, 
The  mountain  tunnelled, 
The  sand  shaded, 
The  orchard  planted, 
The  glebe  tilled, 
The  prairie  granted, 
The  steamer  built. 

Let  man  serve  law  for  man  ; 
Live  for  friendship,  live  for  love, 
For  truth's  and  harmony's  behoof  ; " 
The  state  may  follow  how  it  can, 
As  Olympus  follows  Jove. 

Yet  do  not  I  implore 
The  wrinkled  shopman  to  my  sounding  woods, 
Nor  bid  the  unwilling  senator 
Ask  votes  of  thrushes  in  the  solitudes. 
Every  one  to  his  chosen  work  ;  — 
Foolish  hands  may  mix  and  mar  ; 
Wise  and  sure  the  issues  are. 
Round  they  roll  till  dark  is  light, 
Sex  to  sex,  and  even  to  odd  ;  — 
The  over-god 

Who  marries  Right  to  Might, 
Who  peoples,  unpeoples,  — 
He  who  exterminates 


ODE. 


«7 


Races  by  stronger  races, 
Black  by  white  faces,  — 
Knows  to  bring  honey 
Out  of  the  lion  ; 
Grafts  gentlest  scion 
On  pirate  and  Turk. 

The  Cossack  eats  Poland, 
Like  stolen  fruit  ; 
Her  last  noble  is  ruined, 
Her  last  poet  mute  : 
Straight,  into  double  band 
The  victors  divide  ; 
Half  for  freedom  strike  and  stand  ;  — 
The  astonished  Muse  finds  thousands  at  her 
side. 


ASTRiEA. 


Each  the  herald  is  who  wrote 
His  rank,  and  quartered  his  own  coat. 
There  is  no  king  nor  sovereign  state 
That  can  fix  a  hero's  rate  ; 
Each  to  all  is  venerable, 
Cap-a-pie  invulnerable, 
Until  he  write,  where  all  eyes  rest, 
Slave  or  master  on  his  breast. 
I  saw  men  go  up  and  down, 
In  the  country  and  the  town, 
With  this  tablet  on  their  neck,  — 
'  Judgment  and  a  judge  we  seek.' 
Not  to  monarchs  they  repair, 
Nor  to  learned  jurist's  chair  ; 
But  they  hurry  to  their  peers, 
To  their  kinsfolk  and  their  dears  ; 
Louder  than  with  speech  they  pray,  — 
*  What  am  I  ?  companion,  say.' 
And  the  friend  not  hesitates 
To  assign  just  place  and  mates  ; 
Answers  not  in  word  or  letter, 
Yet  is  understood  the  better  ; 
Each  to  each  a  looking-glass, 
Reflects  his  figure  that  doth  pass. 
Every  wayfarer  he  meets 
What  himself  declared  repeats, 
What  himself  confessed  records, 
Sentences  him  in  his  words  ; 


ASTRiEA. 


The  form  is  his  own  corporal  form, 
And  his  thought  the  penal  worm. 
Yet  shine  forever  virgin  minds, 
Loved  by  stars  and  purest  winds, 
Which,  o'er  passion  throned  sedate, 
Have  not  hazarded  their  state  ; 
Disconcert  the  searching  spy, 
Rendering  to  a  curious  eye 
The  durance  of  a  granite  ledge. 
To  those  who  gaze  from  the  sea's  edge 
It  is  there  for  benefit ; 
It  is  there  for  purging  light ; 
There  for  purifying  storms  ; 
And  its  depths  reflect  all  forms  ; 
It  cannot  parley  with  the  mean,  — 
Pure  by  impure  is  not  seen. 
For  there 's  no  sequestered  grot, 
Lone  mountain  tarn,  or  isle  forgot, 
But  Justice,  journeying  in  the  sphere, 
Daily  stoops  to  harbor  there. 


fiTIENNE  DE  LA  BOfiCE. 


I  serve  you  not,  if  you  I  follow, 
Shadowlike,  o'er  bill  and  hollow  ; 
And  bend  my  fancy  to  your  leading, 
All  too  nimble  for  my  treading. 
When  the  pilgrimage  is  done, 
And  we  've  the  landscape  overrun, 
I  am  bitter,  vacant,  thwarted, 
And  your  heart  is  unsupported. 
Vainly  valiant,  you  have  missed 
The  manhood  that  should  yours  resist,  — 
Its  complement  ;  but  if  I  could, 
In  severe  or  cordial  mood, 
Lead  you  rightly  to  my  altar, 
Where  the  wisest  Muses  falter, 
And  worship  that  world- warming  spark 
Which  dazzles  me  in  midnight  dark, 
Equalizing  small  and  large, 
While  the  soul  it  doth  surcharge, 
Till  the  poor  is  wealthy  grown, 
And  the  hermit  never  alone,  — 
The  traveller  and  the  road  seem  one 
With  the  errand  to  be  done,  — 
That  were  a  man's  and  lover's  part, 
That  were  Freedom's  whitest  chart. 
(90) 


COMPENSATION. 


Why  should  I  keep  holiday 
When  other  men  have  none  ? 

Why  but  because,  when  these  are  gay, 
I  sit  and  mourn  alone  ? 

And  why,  when  mirth  unseals  all  tongues, 
Should  mine  alone  be  dumb  ? 

Ah !  late  I  spoke  to  silent  throngs, 
And  now  their  hour  is  come. 

(91) 


FORBEARANCE. 

Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun  ? 
Loved  the  wood-rose,  and  left  it  on  its  stalk  ? 
At  rich  men's  tables  eaten  bread  and  pulse  ? 
Unarmed,  faced  danger  with  a  heart  of  trust  ? 
And  loved  so  well  a  high  behavior, 
In  man  or  maid,  that  thou  from  speech  refrained, 
Nobility  more  nobly  to  repay  ? 
O,  be  my  friend,  and  teach  me  to  be  thine  ! 
(92) 


THE  PARK. 


The  prosperous  and  beautiful 

To  me  seem  not  to  wear 
The  yoke  of  conscience  masterful, 

Which  galls  me  everywhere. 

I  cannot  shake  off  the  god  ; 

On  my  neck  he  makes  his  seat ; 
I  look  at  my  face  in  the  glass,  — 

My  eyes  his  eyeballs  meet. 

Enchanters  !  enchantresses  ! 

Your  gold  makes  you  seem  wise  ; 
The  morning  mist  within  your  grounds 

More  proudly  rolls,  more  softly  lies. 

Yet  spake  yon  purple  mountain, 

Yet  said  yon  ancient  wood, 
That  Night  or  Day,  that  Love  or  Crime, 

Leads  all  souls  to  the  Good. 
(93) 


FORERUNNERS. 

Long  I  followed  happy  guides, 

I  could  never  reach  their  sides  ; 

Their  step  is  forth,  and,  ere  the  day, 

Breaks  up  their  leaguer,  and  away. 

Keen  my  sense,  my  heart  was  young, 

Right  good-will  my  sinews  strung, 

But  no  speed  of  mine  avails 

To  hunt  upon  their  shining  trails. 

On  and  away,  their  hasting  feet 

Make  the  morning  proud  and  sweet ; 

Flowers  they  strew,  —  I  catch  the  scent ; 

Or  tone  of  silver  instrument 

Leaves  on  the  wind  melodious  trace  ; 

Yet  I  could  never  see  their  face. 

On  eastern  hills  I  see  their  smokes, 

Mixed  with  mist  by  distant  lochs. 

I  met  many  travellers 

Who  the  road  had  surely  kept ; 

They  saw  not  my  fine  revellers,  — 

These  had  crossed  them  while  they  slept. 

Some  had  heard  their  fair  report, 

In  the  country  or  the  court. 

Fleetest  couriers  alive 

Never  yet  could  once  arrive, 

As  they  went  or  they  returned, 

At  the  house  where  these  sojourned. 

Sometimes  their  strong  speed  they  slacken, 

Though  they  are  not  overtaken  ; 

(94) 


FORERUNNERS. 


In  sleep  their  jubilant  troop  is  near, 
I  tuneful  voices  overhear  ; 
It  may  be  in  wood  or  waste,  — 
At  unawares 't  is  come  and  past. 
Their  near  camp  my  spirit  knows 
By  signs  gracious  as  rainbows. 
I  thenceforward  and  long  after, 
Listen  for  their  harp-like  laughter, 
And  carry  in  my  heart,  for  days, 
Peace  that  hallows  rudest  waysc 


SURSUM  COED  A. 

Seek  not  the  spirit,  if  it  hide 
Inexorable  to  thy  zeal : 
Trembler,  do  not  whine  and  chide  : 
Art  thou  not  also  real  ? 
Stoop  not  then  to  poor  excuse  ; 
Turn  on  the  accuser  roundly  ;  say, 
6  Here  am  I,  here  will  I  abide 
Forever  to  myself  soothfast  ; 
Go  thou,  sweet  Heaven,  or  at  thy  pleasure  stay  ! ' 
Already  Heaven  with  thee  its  lot  has  cast, 
For  only  it  can  absolutely  deal. 

(96) 


ODE  TO  BEAUTY, 


Who  gave  thee,  O  Beauty, 
The  keys  of  this  breast,  — 
Too  credulous  lover 
Of  blest  and  unblest  ? 
Say,  when  in  lapsed  ages 
Thee  knew  I  of  old  ? 
Or  what  was  the  service 
For  which  I  was  sold  ? 
When  first  my  eyes  saw  thee, 
I  found  nie  thy  thrall, 
By  magical  drawings, 
Sweet  tyrant  of  all  I 
I  drank  at  thy  fountain 
False  waters  of  thirst ; 
Thou  intimate  stranger, 
Thou  latest  and  first ! 
Thy  dangerous  glances 
Make  women  of  men  ; 
New-born,  we  are  melting 
Into  nature  again. 

Lavish,  lavish  proniiser, 
Nigh  persuading  gods  to  err  2 
Guest  of  million  painted  forms, 
Which  in  turn  thy  glory  warms  ! 
The  frailest  leaf,  the  mossy  bark, 
The  acorn's  cup,  the  raindrop's  arc, 
The  swinging  spider's  silver  line, 
7  (97  > 


ODE  TO  BEAUTY. 


The  ruby  of  the  drop  of  wine, 
The  shining  pebble  of  the  pond, 
Thou  inscribest  with  a  bond, 
In  thy  momentary  play, 
Would  bankrupt  nature  to  repay,. 

Ah,  what  avails  it 
To  hide  or  to  shun 
Whom  the  Infinite  One 
Hath  granted  his  throne  ? 
The  heaven  high  over 
Is  the  deep's  lover  ; 
The  sun  and  sea, 
Informed  by  thee, 
Before  me  run 
And  draw  me  on, 
Yet  fly  me  still, 
As  Fate  refuses 

To  me  the  heart  Fate  for  me  chooses. 

Is  it  that  my  opulent  soul 

Was  mingled  from  the  generous  whole 

Sea-valleys  and  the  deep  of  skies 

Furnished  several  supplies  ; 

And  the  sands  whereof  I 'm  made 

Draw  me  to  them,  self -betrayed  ? 

I  turn  the  proud  portfolio 

Which  holds  the  grand  designs 

Of  Salvator,  of  Guercino, 

And  Piranesi's  lines. 

I  hear  the  lofty  pseans 

Of  the  masters  of  the  shell, 

Who  heard  the  starry  music 

And  recount  the  numbers  well ; 


ODE  TO  BEAUTY. 


Olympian  bards  who  sung 

Divine  Ideas  below, 

Which  always  find  us  young 

And  always  keep  us  so. 

Oft,  in  streets  or  humblest  places, 

I  detect  far- wandered  graces, 

Which,  from  Eden  wide  astray, 

In  lowly  homes  have  lost  their  way. 

Thee  gliding  through  the  sea  of  form, 
Like  the  lightning  through  the  storm, 
Somewhat  not  to  be  possessed, 
Somewhat  not  to  be  caressed, 
No  feet  so  fleet  could  ever  find, 
No  perfect  form  could  ever  bind. 
Thou  eternal  fugitive, 
Hovering  over  all  that  live, 
Quick  and  skilful  to  inspire 
Sweet,  extravagant  desire, 
Starry  space  and  lily-bell 
Filling  with  thy  roseate  smell, 
Wilt  not  give  the  lips  to  taste 
Of  the  nectar  which  thou  hast. 

All  that 's  good  and  great  with  thee 
Works  in  close  conspiracy  ; 
Thou  hast  bribed  the  dark  and  lonely 
To  report  thy  features  only, 
And  the  cold  and  purple  morning 
Itself  with  thoughts  of  thee  adorning 
The  leafy  dell,  the  city  mart, 
Equal  trophies  of  thine  art ; 
E'en  the  flowing  azure  air 


ODE  TO  BEAUTY. 


Thou  hast  touched  for  my  despair  ; 
And,  if  I  languish  into  dreams, 
Again  I  meet  the  ardent  beams. 
Queen  of  things  !  I  dare  not  die 
In  Being's  deeps  past  ear  and  eye  ; 
Lest  there  I  find  the  same  deceiver, 
And  be  the  sport  of  Fate  forever. 
Dread  Power,  but  dear  !  if  God  thou  be, 
Unmake  me  quite,  or  give  thyself  to  me 


GIVE  ALL  TO  LOVE. 


Give  all  to  love  ; 

Obey  thy  heart ; 

Friends,  kindred,  days, 

Estate,  good-fame, 

Plans,  credit  and  the  Muse,  — 

Nothing  refuse. 

'T  is  a  brave  master  ; 

Let  it  have  scope  : 

Follow  it  utterly, 

Hope  beyond  hope  : 

High  and  more  high 

It  dives  into  noon, 

With  wing  unspent, 

Untold  intent  ; 

But  it  is  a  god, 

Knows  its  own  path 

And  the  outlets  of  the  sky. 

It  was  never  for  the  mean  ; 
It  requireth  courage  stout. 
Souls  above  doubt, 
Valor  unbending, 
It  will  reward,  — 
They  shall  return 
More  than  they  were, 
And  ever  ascending. 
(101) 


GIVE  ALL  TO  LOVE. 


Leave  all  for  love  ; 

Yet,  hear  me,  yet, 

One  word  more  thy  heart  behoved, 

One  pulse  more  of  firm  endeavor,  — 

Keep  thee  to-day, 

To-morrow,  forever, 

Free  as  an  Arab 

Of  thy  beloved. 

Cling  with  life  to  the  maid  ; 

But  when  the  surprise, 

First  vague  shadow  of  surmise 

Flits  across  her  bosom  young, 

Of  a  joy  apart  from  thee, 

Free  be  she,  fancy-free  ; 

Nor  thou  detain  her  vesture's  hem, 

Nor  the  palest  rose  she  flung 

From  her  summer  diadem. 

Though  thou  loved  her  as  thyself, 

As  a  self  of  purer  clay, 

Though  her  parting  dims  the  day, 

Stealing  grace  from  all  alive  ; 

Heartily  know, 

When  half-gods  go, 

The  gods  arrive. 


TO  ELLEN 


AT    THE  SOUTH. 

The  green  grass  is  bowing, 

The  morning  wind  is  in  it ; 
'T  is  a  tune  worth  thy  knowing, 

Though  it  change  every  minute. 

'T  is  a  tune  of  the  Spring  ; 

Every  year  plays  it  over 
To  the  robin  on  the  wing, 

And  to  the  pausing  lover. 

O'er  ten  thousand,  thousand  acres, 

Goes  light  the  nimble  zephyr  ; 
The  Flowers  —  tiny  sect  of  Shakers  — 

Worship  him  ever. 

Hark  to  the  winning  sound  ! 

They  summon  thee,  dearest,  — 
Saying,  6  We  have  dressed  for  thee  the  ground, 

Nor  yet  thou  appearest. 

*  O  hasten  ; 9  't  is  our  time, 

Ere  yet  the  red  Summer 
Scorch  our  delicate  prime, 

Loved  of  bee,  —  the  tawny  hummer. 

*  O  pride  of  thy  race  ! 

Sad,  in  sooth,  it  were  to  ours, 
(103) 


TO  ELLEN. 


If  our  brief  tribe  miss  thy  face, 
We  poor  New  England  flowers, 

i  Fairest,  choose  the  fairest  members 

Of  our  lithe  society  ; 
June's  glories  and  September's 
Show  our  love  and  piety. 

'  Thou  shalt  command  us  all,  — 
April's  cowslip,  Summer's  clover, 
To  the  gentian  in  the  fall, 

Blue-eyed  pet  of  blue-eyed  lover. 

*  O  come,  then,  quickly  come  ! 

We  are  budding,  we  are  blowing  ; 
And  the  wind  that  we  perfume 

Sings  a  tune  that 's  worth  the  knowing.' 


TO  EVA, 


O  fair  and  stately  maid,  whose  eyes 
Were  kindled  in  the  upper  skies 

At  the  same  torch  that  lighted  mine  ; 
For  so  I  must  interpret  still 
Thy  sweet  dominion  o'er  my  will, 

A  sympathy  divine. 

Ah  !  let  me  blameless  gaze  upon 
Features  that  seem  at  heart  my  own  ; 

Nor  fear  those  watchful  sentinels, 
Who  charm  the  more  their  glance  forbids, 
Chaste-glowing,  underneath  their  lids, 

With  fire  that  draws  while  it  repels. 
(105) 


THE  AMULET. 


Your  picture  smiles  as  first  it  smiled  ; 

The  ring  you  gave  is  still  the  same  ; 
Your  letter  tells,  O  changing  child  I 

No  tidings  since  it  came. 

Give  me  an  amulet 

That  keeps  intelligence  with  you,  — 
Red  when  you  love,  and  rosier  red  ; 

And  when  you  love  not,  pale  and  blue. 

Alas  !  that  neither  bonds  nor  vows 

Can  certify  possession  ; 
Torments  me  still  the  fear  that  love 

Died  in  its  last  expression. 

(106) 


THINE  EYES  STILL  SHINED. 


Thine  eyes  still  shined  for  me,  though  far 
I  lonely  roved  the  land  or  sea  : 

As  I  behold  yon  evening  star, 
Which  yet  beholds  not  me. 

This  morn  I  climbed  the  misty  hill 
And  roamed  the  pastures  through  ; 

How  danced  thy  form  before  my  path 
Amidst  the  deep-eyed  dew  ! 

When  the  redbird  spread  his  sable  wing, 

And  showed  his  side  of  flame  ; 
When  the  rosebud  ripened  to  the  rose, 
In  both  I  read  thy  name. 

(107) 


EROS. 


The  sense  of  the  world  is  short,  — 
Long  and  various  the  report,  — 

To  love  and  be  beloved  ; 
Men  and  gods  have  not  outlearned  it ; 
And  how  oft  soe'er  they 've  turned  it, 

Not  to  be  improved. 

(108) 


HERMIONE. 


On  a  mound  an  Arab  lay, 
And,  sung  his  sweet  regrets 
And  told  his  amulets  : 
The  summer  bird 
His  sorrow  heard, 

And,  when  he  heaved  a  sigh  profound, 
The  sympathetic  swallow  swept  the  ground. 

6  If  it  be,  as  they  said,  she  was  not  fair, 
Beauty 's  not  beautiful  to  me, 
But  sceptred  genius,  aye  inorbed, 
Culminating  in  her  sphere. 
This  Hermione  absorbed 
The  lustre  of  the  land  and  ocean, 
Hills  and  islands,  cloud  and  tree, 
In  her  form  and  motion. 

'  I  ask  no  bauble  miniature, 
Nor  ringlets  dead 
Shorn  from  her  comely  head, 
Now  that  morning  not  disdains 
Mountains  and  the  misty  plains 
Her  colossal  portraiture  ; 
They  her  heralds  be, 
Steeped  in  her  quality, 
And  singers  of  her  fame 
Who  is  their  Muse  and  dame. 
(109) 


HERMIONE. 


4  Higher,  dear  swallow  !  mind  not  what  I  say 

Ah  !  heedless  how  the  weak  are  strong, 
Say,  was  it  just, 

In  thee  to  frame,  in  me  to  trust, 
Thou  to  the  Syrian  couldst  belong  ? 

'  I  am  of  a  lineage 

That  each  for  each  doth  fast  engage  ; 
In  old  Bassora's  schools,  I  seemed 
Hermit  vowed  to  books  and  gloom,  — 
Ill-bestead  for  gay  bridegroom. 
I  was  by  thy  touch  redeemed  ; 
When  thy  meteor  glances  came, 
We  talked  at  large  of  worldly  fate, 
And  drew  truly  every  trait. 

*  Once  I  dwelt  apart, 
Now  I  live  with  all  ; 
As  shepherd's  lamp  on  far  hill-side 
Seems,  by  the  traveller  espied, 
A  door  into  the  mountain  heart, 
So  didst  thou  quarry  and  unlock 
Highways  for  me  through  the  rock. 

'  Now,  deceived,  thou  wanderest 
In  strange  lands  unblest  ; 
And  my  kindred  come  to  soothe  me. 
Southwind  is  my  next  of  blood  ; 
He  is  come  through  fragrant  wood, 
Drugged  with  spice  from  climates  warm, 
And  in  every  twinkling  glade, 
And  twilight  nook, 
Unveils  thy  form. 


HERMIONE. 


Out  of  the  forest  way 

Forth  paced  it  yesterday  ; 

And  when  I  sat  by  the  watercourse, 

Watching  the  daylight  fade, 

It  throbbed  up  from  the  brook. 

'  River  and  rose  and  crag  and  bird, 

Frost  and  sun  and  eldest  night, 

To  me  their  aid  preferred, 

To  me  their  comfort  plight  ;  — 
(t  Courage  !  we  are  thine  allies, 

And  with  this  hint  be  wise,  — 

The  chains  of  kind 

The  distant  bind  ; 

Deed  thou  doest  she  must  do, 

Above  her  will,  be  true  ; 

And,  in  her  strict  resort 

To  winds  and  waterfalls 

And  autumn's  sunlit  festivals, 

To  music,  and  to  music's  thought, 

Inextricably  bound, 

She  shall  find  thee,  and  be  found. 

Follow  not  her  flying  feet ; 

Come  to  us  herself  to  meet."  * 


INITIAL,  DAEMONIC,  AND  CELESTIAL  LOVE* 
I. 

THE  INITIAL  LOVE. 

Venus,  when  her  son  was  lost, 

Cried  him  up  and  down  the  coast, 

In  hamlets,  palaces  and  parks, 

And  told  the  truant  by  his  marks,  — 

Golden  curls,  and  quiver  and  bow. 

This  befell  how  long  ago  ! 

Time  and  tide  are  strangely  changed, 

Men  and  manners  much  deranged  : 

None  will  now  find  Cupid  latent 

By  this  foolish  antique  patent. 

He  came  late  along  the  waste, 

Shod  like  a  traveller  for  haste  ; 

With  malice  dared  me  to  proclaim  him, 

That  the  maids  and  boys  might  name  him. 

Boy  no  more,  he  wears  all  coats, 
Frocks  and  blouses,  capes,  capotes  ; 
He  bears  no  bow,  or  quiver,  or  wand, 
Nor  chaplet  on  his  head  or  hand. 
Leave  his  weeds  and  heed  his  eyes,  — 
All  the  rest  he  can  disguise. 
In  the  pit  of  his  eye  's  a  spark 
Would  bring  back  day  if  it  were  dark  ; 
And,  if  I  tell  you  all  my  thought, 
Though  I  comprehend  it  not, 
(112) 


THE  INITIAL  LOVE. 


In  those  unfathomable  orbs 
Every  function  he  absorbs  ; 
Doth  eat,  and  drink,  and  fish,  and  shoot, 
And  write,  and  reason,  and  compute, 
And  ride,  and  run,  and  have,  and  hold, 
And  whine,  and  flatter,  and  regret, 
And  kiss,  and  couple,  and  beget, 
By  those  roving  eyeballs  bold. 

Undaunted  are  their  courages, 
Right  Cossacks  in  their  forages  ; 
Fleeter  they  than  any  creature,  — 
They  are  his  steeds,  and  not  his  feature  % 
Inquisitive,  and  fierce,  and  fasting, 
Restless,  predatory,  hasting  ; 
And  they  pounce  on  other  eyes 
As  lions  on  their  prey  ; 
And  round  their  circles  is  writ, 
Plainer  than  the  day, 
Underneath,  within,  above,  — 
Love  — -  love  —  love  —  love. 
He  lives  in  his  eyes  ; 
There  doth  digest,  and  work,  and  spin, 
And  buy,  and  sell,  and  lose,  and  win  ; 
He  rolls  them  with  delighted  motion, 
Joy-tides  swell  their  mimic  ocean. 
Yet  holds  he  them  with  tortest  rein, 
That  they  may  seize  and  entertain 
The  glance  that  to  their  glance  opposes, 
Like  fiery  honey  sucked  from  roses. 
He  palmistry  can  understand, 
Imbibing  virtue  by  his  hand 
As  if  it  were  a  living  root ; 
8 


THE  INITIAL  LOVE. 


The  pulse  of  hands  will  make  him  mute  ; 
With  all  his  force  he  gathers  balms 
Into  those  wise>  thrilling  palms. 

Cupid  is  a  casuist, 

A  mystic  and  a  cabalist,  — 

Can  your  lurking  thought  surprise, 

And  interpret  your  device. 

He  is  versed  in  occidt  science, 

In  magic  and  in  clairvoyance, 

Oft  he  keeps  his  fine  ear  strained, 

And  Reason  on  her  tiptoe  pained 

For  aery  intelligence, 

And  for  strange  coincidence. 

But  it  touches  his  quick  heart 

When  Fate  by  omens  takes  his  part, 

And  chance-dropped  hints  from  Nature's  sphere 

Deeply  soothe  his  anxious  ear. 

Heralds  high  before  him  run  ; 

He  has  ushers  many  a  one  ; 

He  spreads  his  welcome  where  he  goes, 

And  touches  all  things  with  his  rose. 

All  things  wait  for  and  divine  him,  — 

How  shall  I  dare  to  malign  him, 

Or  accuse  the  god  of  sport  ? 

I  must  end  my  true  report, 

Painting  him  from  head  to  foot, 

In  as  far  as  I  took  note, 

Trusting  well  the  matchless  power 

Of  this  young-eyed  emperor 

Will  clear  his  fame  from  every  cloud 

With  the  bards  and  with  the  crowd. 


THE  INITIAL  L  VE. 


He  is  wilful,  mutable, 

Shy,  untamed,  inscrutable, 

Swifter-fashioned  than  the  fairies, 

Substance  mixed  of  pure  contraries  ; 

His  vice  some  elder  virtue's  token, 

And  his  good  is  evil-spoken. 

Failing  sometimes  of  his  own, 

He  is  headstrong  and  alone  ; 

He  affects  the  wood  and  wild, 

Like  a  flower-hunting  child  ; 

Buries  himself  in  summer  waves, 

In  trees,  with  beasts,  in  mines  and  caves, 

Loves  nature  like  a  horned  cow, 

Bird,  or  deer,  or  caribou. 

Shun  him,  nymphs,  on  the  fleet  horses  ! 

He  has  a  total  world  of  wit ; 

O  how  wise  are  his  discourses  ! 

But  he  is  the  arch-hypocrite, 

And,  through  all  science  and  all  art, 

Seeks  alone  his  counterpart. 

He  is  a  Pundit  of  the  East, 

He  is  an  augur  and  a  priest, 

And  his  soul  will  melt  in  prayer, 

But  word  and  wisdom  is  a  snare  ; 

Corrupted  by  the  present  toy 

He  follows  joy,  and  only  joy. 

There  is  no  mask  but  he  will  wear  ; 

He  invented  oaths  to  swear  ; 

He  paints,  he  carves,  he  chants,  he  prays, 

And  holds  all  stars  in  his  embrace, 

He  takes  a  sovran  privilege 

Not  allowed  to  any  liege  °, 


THF  iNITIAL  LOVE. 


For  Cupid  goes  behind  all  law, 

And  right  into  himself  does  draw  ; 

For  he  is  sovereignly  allied,  — 

Heaven's  oldest  blood  flows  in  his  side,  — 

And  interchangeably  at  one 

With  every  king  on  every  throne, 

That  no  god  dare  say  him  nay, 

Or  see  the  fault,  or  seen  betray  : 

He  has  the  Muses  by  the  heart, 

And  the  stern  Parcse  on  his  part. 

His  many  signs  cannot  be  told  ; 

He  has  not  one  mode,  but  manifold, 

Many  fashions  and  addresses, 

Piques,  reproaches,  hurts,  caresses. 

He  will  preach  like  a  friar, 

And  jump  like  Harlequin  ; 

He  will  read  like  a  crier, 

And  fight  like  a  Paladin. 

Boundless  is  his  memory  ; 

Plans  immense  his  term  prolong  ; 

He  is  not  of  counted  age, 

Meaning  always  to  be  young. 

And  his  wish  is  intimacy, 

Intimater  intimacy, 

And  a  stricter  privacy  ; 

The  impossible  shall  yet  be  done, 

And,  being  two,  shall  still  be  one. 

As  the  wave  breaks  to  foam  on  shelves, 

Then  runs  into  a  wave  again, 

So  lovers  melt  their  sundered  selves, 

Yet  melted  would  be  twain. 


THE  DAEMONIC  LOVE. 


II. 

THE  DAEMONIC  LOVE. 

Man  was  made  of  social  earth, 

Child  and  brother  from  his  birth, 

Tethered  by  a  liquid  cord 

Of  blood  through  veins  of  kindred  poured. 

Next  his  heart  the  fireside  band 

Of  mother,  father,  sister,  stand  ; 

Names  from  awful  childhood  heard 

Throbs  of  a  wild  religion  stirred  ;  — 

Virtue,  to  love,  to  hate  them,  vice  ; 

Till  dangerous  Beauty  came,  at  last, 

Till  Beauty  came  to  snap  all  ties  ; 

The  maid,  abolishing  the  past, 

With  lotus  wine  obliterates 

Dear  memory's  stone-incarved  traits, 

And,  by  herself,  supplants  alone 

Friends  year  by  year  more  inly  known. 

When  her  calm  eyes  opened  bright, 

All  else  grew  foreign  in  their  light. 

It  was  ever  the  self-same  tale, 

The  first  experience  will  not  fail  ; 

Only  two  in  the  garden  walked, 

And  with  snake  and  seraph  talked. 

Close,  close  to  men, 

Like  undulating  layer  of  air, 

Right  above  their  heads, 

The  potent  plain  of  Daemons  spreads. 

Stands  to  each  human  soul  its  own, 


THE  DAEMONIC  LOVE. 


For  watch,  and  ward,  and  furtherance, 

In  the  snares  of  Nature's  dance  ; 

And  the  lustre  and  the  grace 

To  fascinate  each  youthful  heart, 

Beaming  from  its  counterpart, 

Translucent  through  the  mortal  covers, 

Is  the  Daemon's  form  and  face. 

To  and  fro  the  Genius  hies,  — 

A  gleam  which  plays  and  hovers 

Over  the  maiden's  head, 

And  dips  sometimes  as  low  as  to  her  eyes. 

Unknown,  albeit  lying  near, 

To  men,  the  path  to  the  Daemon  sphere  ; 

And  they  that  swiftly  come  and  go 

Leave  no  track  on  the  heavenly  snow. 

Sometimes  the  airy  synod  bends, 

And  the  mighty  choir  descends, 

And  the  brains  of  men  thenceforth, 

In  crowded  and  in  still  resorts, 

Teem  with  unwonted  thoughts  : 

As,  when  a  shower  of  meteors 

Cross  the  orbit  of  the  earth, 

And,  lit  by  f ringent  air, 

Blaze  near  and  far, 

Mortals  deem  the  planets  bright 

Have  slipped  their  sacred  bars, 

And  the  lone  seaman  all  the  night 

Sails,  astonished,  amid  stars. 

Beauty  of  a  richer  vein, 
Graces  of  a  subtler  strain, 
Unto  men  these  moonmen  lend, 
And  our  shrinking  sky  extend. 


THE  DAEMONIC  LOVE. 


So  is  man's  narrow  path 

By  strength  and  terror  skirted  ; 

Also,  (from  the  song  the  wrath 

Of  the  Genii  be  averted  I 

The  Muse  the  truth  uncolored  speaking,) 

The  Daemons  are  self-seeking  : 

Their  fierce  and  limitary  will 

Draws  men  to  their  likeness  still. 

The  erring  painter  made  Love  blind,  — ■ 

Highest  Love  who  shines  on  all ; 

Him,  radiant,  sharpest-sighted  god, 

None  can  bewilder  ; 

Whose  eyes  pierce 

The  universe, 

Path-finder,  road-builder, 

Mediator,  royal  giver  ; 

Rightly  seeing,  rightly  seen, 

Of  joyful  and  transparent  mien. 

5T  is  a  sparkle  passing 

From  each  to  each,  from  thee  to  me, 

To  and  fro  perpetually  ; 

Sharing  all,  daring  all, 

Levelling,  displacing 

Each  obstruction,  it  unites 

Equals  remote,  and  seeming  opposites, 

And  ever  and  forever  Love 

Delights  to  build  a  road  : 

Unheeded  Danger  near  him  strides, 

Love  laughs,  and  on  a  lion  rides. 

But  Cupid  wears  another  face, 

Born  into  Daemons  less  divine  : 

His  roses  bleach  apace, 

His  nectar  smacks  of  wine. 


THE  DEMONIC  LOVE. 


The  Daemon  ever  builds  a  wall, 
Himself  encloses  and  includes, 
Solitude  in  solitudes  : 
In  like  sort  his  love  doth  fall. 
He  doth  elect 

The  beautiful  and  fortunate, 

And  the  sons  of  intellect, 

And  the  souls  of  ample  fate, 

Who  the  Future's  gates  unbar,  — 

Minions  of  the  Morning  Star. 

In  his  prowess  he  exults, 

And  the  multitude  insults. 

His  impatient  looks  devour 

Oft  the  humble  and  the  poor  ; 

And,  seeing  his  eye  glare, 

They  drop  their  few  pale  flowers, 

Gathered  with  hope  to  please, 

Along  the  mountain  towers,  — 

Lose  courage,  and  despair. 

He  will  never  be  gainsaid,  — 

Pitiless,  will  not  be  stayed  ; 

His  hot  tyranny 

Burns  up  every  other  tie. 

Therefore  comes  an  hour  from  Jove 

Which  his  ruthless  will  defies, 

And  the  dogs  of  Fate  unties. 

Shiver  the  palaces  of  glass  ; 

Shrivel  the  rainbow-colored  walls, 

Where  in  bright  Art  each  god  and  sibyl  dwelt 

Secure  as  in  the  zodiac's  belt  ; 

And  the  galleries  and  halls, 

Wherein  every  siren  sung, 

Like  a  meteor  pass. 


THE  CELESTIAL  LOVE. 


For  this  fortune  wanted  root 
In  the  core  of  God's  abysm,  — 
Was  a  weed  of  self  and  schism  ; 
And  ever  the  Daemonic  Love 
Is  the  ancestor  of  wars 
And  the  parent  of  remorse. 


III. 

THE  CELESTIAL  LOVE. 

But  God  said, 
6 1  will  have  a  purer  gift ; 
There  is  smoke  in  the  flame  ; 
New  flowerets  bring,  new  prayers  uplift. 
And  love  without  a  name. 
Fond  children,  ye  desire 
To  please  each  other  well  ; 
Another  round,  a  higher, 
Ye  shall  climb  on  the  heavenly  stair, 
And  selfish  preference  forbear  ; 
And  in  right  deserving, 
And  without  a  swerving 
Each  from  your  proper  state, 
Weave  roses  for  your  mate. 

*  Deep,  deep  are  loving  eyes, 
Flowed  with  naphtha  fiery  sweet  ; 
And  the  point  is  paradise, 
Where  their  glances  meet  : 
Their  reach  shall  yet  be  more  profound, 
And  a  vision  without  bound  : 


THE  CELESTIAL  LOVE. 


The  axis  of  those  eyes  sun-clear 
Be  the  axis  of  the  sphere  : 
So  shall  the  lights  ye  pour  amain 
Go,  without  check  or  intervals, 
Through  from  the  empyrean  walls 
Unto  the  same  again.' 

Higher  far  into  the  pure  realm, 

Over  sun  and  star, 

Over  the  nickering  Daemon  film, 

Thou  must  mount  for  love  ; 

Into  vision  where  all  form 

In  one  only  form  dissolves  ; 

In  a  region  where  the  wheel 

On  which  all  beings  ride 

Visibly  revolves  ; 

Where  the  starred,  eternal  worm 

Girds  the  world  with  bound  and  term 

Where  unlike  things  are  like  ; 

Where  good  and  ill, 

And  joy  and  moan, 

Melt  into  one. 

There  Past,  Present,  Future,  shoot 
Triple  blossoms  from  one  root ; 
Substances  at  base  divided, 
In  their  summits  are  united  ; 
There  the  holy  essence  rolls, 
One  through  separated  souls  ; 
And  the  sunny  iEon  sleeps 
Folding  Nature  in  its  deeps, 
And  every  fair  and  every  good, 
Known  in  part,  or  known  impure, 
To  men  below, 


THE  CELESTIAL  LOVE. 


In  their  archetypes  endure. 

The  race  of  gods, 

Or  those  we  erring  own, 

Are  shadows  flitting  up  and  down 

In  the  still  abodes. 

The  circles  of  that  sea  are  laws 

Which  publish  and  which  hide  the  cause 

Pray  for  a  beam 

Out  of  that  sphere, 

Thee  to  guide  and  to  redeem. 

O,  what  a  load 

Of  care  and  toil, 

By  lying  use  bestowed, 

From  his  shoulders  falls  who  sees 

The  true  astronomy, 

The  period  of  peace. 

Counsel  which  fthe  ages  kept 

Shall  the  well-born  soul  accept. 

As  the  overhanging  trees 

Fill  the  lake  with  images,  — 

As  garment  draws  the  garment's  hem, 

Men  their  fortunes  bring  with  them. 

By  right  or  wrong, 

Lands  and  goods  go  to  the  strong. 

Property  will  brutely  draw 

Still  to  the  proprietor  ; 

Silver  to  silver  creep  and  wind, 

And  kind  to  kind. 

Nor  less  the  eternal  poles 
Of  tendency  distribute  souls. 
There  need  no  vows  to  bind 


THE  CELESTIAL  LOVE. 


Whom  not  each  other  seek,  but  find. 
They  give  and  take  no  pledge  or  oath,  - 
Nature  is  the  bond  of  both  : 
No  prayer  persuades,  no  flattery  fawns, 
Their  noble  meanings  are  their  pawns. 
Plain  and  cold  is  their  address, 
Power  have  they  for  tenderness  ; 
And,  so  thoroughly  is  known 
Each  other's  counsel  by  his  own, 
They  can  parley  without  meeting  ; 
Need  is  none  of  forms  of  greeting  ; 
They  can  well  communicate 
In  their  innermost  estate  ; 
When  each  the  other  shall  avoid, 
Shall  each  by  each  be  most  enjoyed. 

Not  with  scarfs  or  perfumed  gloves 
Do  these  celebrate  their  loves  : 
Not  by  jewels,  feasts  and  savors, 
Not  by  ribbons  or  by  favors, 
But  by  the  sun-spark  on  the  sea, 
And  the  cloud-shadow  on  the  lea, 
The  soothing  lapse  of  morn  to  mirk, 
And  the  cheerful  round  of  work. 
Their  cords  of  love  so  public  are, 
They  intertwine  the  farthest  star  : 
The  throbbing  sea,  the  quaking  earth, 
Yield  sympathy  and  signs  of  mirth  ; 
Is  none  so  high,  so  mean  is  none, 
But  feels  and  seals  this  union  ; 
Even  the  fell  Furies  are  appeased, 
The  good  applaud,  the  lost  are  eased. 


THE  CELESTIAL  LOVE. 


Love's  hearts  are  faithful,  but  not  fond, 
Bound  for  the  just,  but  not  beyond  ; 
Not  glad,  as  the  low-loving  herd, 
Of  self  in  other  still  preferred, 
But  they  have  heartily  designed 
The  benefit  of  broad  mankind. 
And  they  serve  men  austerely, 
After  their  own  genius,  clearly, 
Without  a  false  humility  ; 
For  this  is  Love's  nobility,  — 
"Not  to  scatter  bread  and  gold, 
Goods  and  raiment  bought  and  sold  ; 
But  to  hold  fast  his  simple  sense, 
And  speak  the  speech  of  innocence, 
And  with  hand  and  body  and  blood, 
To  make  his  bosom-counsel  good. 
He  that  feeds  men  serveth  few  ; 
He  serves  all  who  dares  be  true. 


THE  APOLOGY. 


Think  me  not  unkind  and  rude 

That  I  walk  alone  in  grove  and  glen  ; 

I  go  to  the  god  of  the  wood 
To  fetch  his  word  to  men. 

Tax  not  my  sloth  that  I 

Fold  my  arms  beside  the  brook  ; 
Each  cloud  that  floated  in  the  sky 

Writes  a  letter  in  my  book. 

Chide  me  not,  laborious  band, 
For  the  idle  flowers  I  brought  ; 

Every  aster  in  my  hand 

Goes  home  loaded  with  a  thought. 

There  was  never  mystery 

But 't  is  figured  in  the  flowers  ; 

Was  never  secret  history 

But  birds  tell  it  in  the  bowers. 

One  harvest  from  thy  field 

Homeward  brought  the  oxen  strong  ; 
A  second  crop  thine  acres  yield, 

Which  I  gather  in  a  song. 

(126) 


MERLIN. 


I. 

Thy  trivial  harp  will  never  please 

Or  fill  my  craving  ear  ; 

Its  chords  should  ring  as  blows  the  breeze, 

Free,  peremptory,  clear. 

No  jingling  serenader's  art, 

Nor  tinkle  of  piano  strings, 

Can  make  the  wild  blood  start 

In  its  mystic  springs. 

The  kingly  bard 

Must  smite  the  chords  rudely  and  hard, 
As  with  hammer  or  with  mace  ; 
That  they  may  render  back 
Artful  thunder,  which  conveys 
Secrets  of  the  solar  track, 
Sparks  of  the  supersolar  blaze. 
Merlin's  blows  are  strokes  of  fate, 
Chiming  with  the  forest  tone, 
When  boughs  buffet  boughs  in  the  wood  ; 
Chiming  with  the  gasp  and  moan 
Of  the  ice-imprisoned  flood  ; 
With  the  pulse  of  manly  hearts  ; 
With  the  voice  of  orators  ; 
With  the  din  of  city  arts  ; 
With  the  cannonade  of  wars  ; 
With  the  marches  of  the  brave  ; 
And  prayers  of  might  from  martyrs'  cave. 
(127) 


MERLIN. 


Great  is  the  art, 

Great  be  the  manners,  of  the  bard. 
He  shall  not  his  brain  encumber 
With  the  coil  of  rhythm  and  number  ; 
But,  leaving  rule  and  pale  forethought, 
He  shall  aye  climb 
For  his  rhyme. 

4  Pass  in,  pass  in,'  the  angels  say, 
6  In  to  the  upper  doors, 

Nor  count  compartments  of  the  floors, 

But  mount  to  paradise 

By  the  stairway  of  surprise.' 

Blameless  master  of  the  games, 
King  of  sport  that  never  shames, 
He  shall  daily  joy  dispense 
Hid  in  song's  sweet  influence. 
Forms  more  cheerly  live  and  go, 
What  time  the  subtle  mind 
Sings  aloud  the  tune  whereto 
Their  pulses  beat, 
And  march  their  feet, 
And  their  members  are  combined. 

By  Sybarites  beguiled, 
He  shall  no  task  decline  ; 
Merlin's  mighty  line 
Extremes  of  nature  reconciled,  — 
Bereaved  a  tyrant  of  his  will, 
And  made  the  lion  mild. 
Songs  can  the  tempest  still, 
Scattered  on  the  stormy  air, 


MERLIN. 


129 


Mould  the  year  to  fair  increase, 
And  bring  in  poetic  peace. 

He  shall  not  seek  to  weave, 
In  weak,  unhappy  times, 
Efficacious  rhymes  ; 
Wait  his  returning  strength. 
Bird,  that  from  the  nadir's  floor 
To  the  zenith's  top  can  soar,  ■ — 
The  soaring  orbit  of  the  muse  exceeds  that  jour- 
ney's length. 
Nor  profane  affect  to  hit 
Or  compass  that,  by  meddling  wit, 
Which  only  the  propitious  mind 
Publishes  when 't  is  inclined. 
There  are  open  hours 
When  the  God's  will  sallies  free, 
And  the  dull  idiot  might  see 
The  flowing  fortunes  of  a  thousand  years  ;  — 
Sudden,  at  unawares, 
Self-moved,  fly-to  the  doors, 
Nor  sword  of  angels  could  reveal 
What  they  conceal. 


MERLIN. 
II. 

The  rhyme  of  the  poet 
Modulates  the  king's  affairs  ; 
Balance-loving  Nature 
Made  all  things  in  pairs. 
9 


130 


MERLIN. 


To  every  foot  its  antipode  ; 

Each  color  with  its  counter  glowed  ; 

To  every  tone  beat  answering  tones, 

Higher  or  graver  ; 

Flavor  gladly  blends  with  flavor  ; 

Leaf  answers  leaf  upon  the  bough  ; 

And  match  the  paired  cotyledons. 

Hands  to  hands,  and  feet  to  feet, 

In  one  body  grooms  and  brides  ; 

Eldest  rite,  two  married  sides 

In  every  mortal  meet. 

Light's  far  furnace  shines, 

Smelting  balls  and  bars, 

Forging  double  stars, 

Glittering  twins  and  trines. 

The  animals  are  sick  with  love, 

Lovesick  with  rhyme  ; 

Each  with  all  propitious  Time 

Into  chorus  wove. 

Like  the  dancers'  ordered  band, 

Thoughts  come  also  hand  in  hand  ; 

In  equal  couples  mated, 

Or  else  alternated  ; 

Adding  by  their  mutual  gage, 

One  to  other,  health  and  age. 

Solitary  fancies  go 

Short-lived  wandering  to  and  fro, 

Most  like  to  bachelors, 

Or  an  ungiven  maid, 

Not  ancestors, 

With  no  posterity  to  make  the  lie  afraid, 
Or  keep  truth  undecayed. 
Perfect-paired  as  eagle's  wings, 


MERLIN. 


Justice  is  the  rhyme  of  things  ; 
Trade  and  counting  use 
The  self-same  tuneful  muse  ; 
And  Nemesis, 

Who  with  even  matches  odd, 
Who  athwart  space  redresses 
The  partial  wrong, 
Fills  the  just  period, 
And  finishes  the  song. 

Subtle  rhymes,  with  ruin  rife, 
Murmur  in  the  house  of  life, 
Sung  by  the  Sisters  as  they  spin  ; 
In  perfect  time  and  measure  they 
Build  and  unbuild  our  echoing  clay* 
As  the  two  twilights  of  the  day 
Fold  us  music-drunken  in. 


BACCHUS. 


Bring  me  wine,  but  wine  which  never  grew 
In  the  belly  of  the  grape, 

Or  grew  on  vine  whose  tap-roots,  reaching  through 
Under  the  Andes  to  the  Cape, 
Suffer  no  savor  of  the  earth  to  scape. 

Let  its  grapes  the  morn  salute 

From  a  nocturnal  root, 

Which  feels  the  acrid  juice 

Of  Styx  and  Erebus  ; 

And  turns  the  woe  of  Night, 

By  its  own  craft,  to  a  more  rich  delight. 

We  buy  ashes  for  bread  ; 

We  buy  diluted  wine  ; 

Give  me  of  the  true,  — 

Whose  ample  leaves  and  tendrils  curled 

Among  the  silver  hills  of  heaven 

Draw  everlasting  dew  ; 

Wine  of  wine, 

Blood  of  the  world, 

Form  of  forms,  and  mould  of  statures, 

That  I  intoxicated, 

And  by  the  draught  assimilated, 

May  float  at  pleasure  through  all  natures  ; 

The  bird-language  rightly  spell, 

And  that  which  roses  say  so  well. 

(132) 


BACCHUS. 


Wine  that  is  shed 

Like  the  torrents  of  the  sun 

Up  the  horizon  walls, 

Or  like  the  Atlantic  streams,  which  run 

When  the  South  Sea  calls. 

Water  and  bread, 
Food  which  needs  no  transmuting, 
Rainbow-flowering,  wisdom-fruiting, 
Wine  which  is  already  man, 
Food  which  teach  and  reason  can. 

Wine  which  Music  is,  — 

Music  and  wine  are  one,  — 

That  I,  drinking  this, 

Shall  hear  far  Chaos  talk  with  me  ; 

Kings  unborn  shall  walk  with  me  ; 

And  the  poor  grass  shall  plot  and  plan 

What  it  will  do  when  it  is  man. 

Quickened  so,  will  I  unlock 

Every  crypt  of  every  rock. 

I  thank  the  joyful  juice 
For  all  I  know  ;  — 
Winds  of  remembering 
Of  the  ancient  being  blow, 
And  seeming-solid  walls  of  use 
Open  and  flow. 

Pour,  Bacchus  !  the  remembering  wine 
Retrieve  the  loss  of  me  and  mine  ! 
Vine  for  vine  be  antidote, 
And  the  grape  requite  the  lote  ! 


BACCHUS. 


Haste  to  cure  the  old  despair,  — 

Reason  in  Nature's  lotus  drenched, 

The  memory  of  ages  quenched  ; 

Give  them  again  to  shine  ; 

Let  wine  repair  what  this  undid  ; 

And  where  the  infection  slid, 

A  dazzling  memory  revive  ; 

Refresh  the  faded  tints, 

Recut  the  aged  prints, 

And  write  my  old  adventures  with  the 

Which  on  the  first  day  drew, 

Upon  the  tablets  blue, 

The  dancing  Pleiads  and  eternal  men. 


MEROPS. 


What  care  I,  so  they  stand  the  same,  — 
Things  of  the  heavenly  mind,  — 

How  long  the  power  to  give  them  name 
Tarries  yet  behind  ? 

Thus  far  to-day  your  favors  reach, 
O  fair,  appeasing  presences  ! 

Ye  taught  my  lips  a  single  speech, 
And  a  thousand  silences. 

Space  grants  beyond  his  fated  road 

No  inch  to  the  god  of  day  ; 
And  copious  language  still  bestowed 

One  wordj  no  more,  to  say. 

(135) 


SAADL 


Tkees  in  groves, 
Kine  in  droves, 

In  ocean  sport  the  scaly  herds, 
Wedge-like  cleave  the  air  the  birds, 
To  northern  lakes  fly  wind-borne  ducks, 
Browse  the  mountain  sheep  in  flocks, 
Men  consort  in  camp  and  town, 
But  the  poet  dwells  alone. 

God,  who  gave  to  him  the  lyre, 
Of  all  mortals  the  desire, 
For  all  breathing  men's  behoof, 
Straitly  charged  him,  *  Sit  aloof  ;  * 
Annexed  a  warning,  poets  say, 
To  the  bright  premium,  — 
Ever,  when  twain  together  play, 
Shall  the  harp  be  dumb. 

Many  may  come, 

But  one  shall  sing  ; 

Two  touch  the  string, 

The  harp  is  dumb. 

Though  there  come  a  million, 

Wise  Saadi  dwells  alone. 

Yet  Saadi  loved  the  race  of  men,  — 
No  churl,  immured  in  cave  or  den  ; 
In  bower  and  hall 

(136) 


SAADI. 


He  wants  them  all, 

Nor  can  dispense 

With  Persia  for  his  audience  ; 

They  must  give  ear, 

Grow  red  with  joy  and  white  with  fear  ; 
But  he  has  no  companion  ; 
Come  ten,  or  come  a  million, 
Good  Saadi  dwells  alone. 

Be  thou  ware  where  Saadi  dwells  ; 

Wisdom  of  the  gods  is  he,  — 

Entertain  it  reverently. 

Gladly  round  that  golden  lamp 

Sylvan  deities  encamp, 

And  simple  maids  and  noble  youth 

Are  welcome  to  the  man  of  truth. 

Most  welcome  they  who  need  him  most, 

They  feed  the  spring  which  they  exhaust 

For  greater  need 

Draws  better  deed  : 

But,  critic,  spare  thy  vanity, 

Nor  show  thy  pompous  parts, 

To  vex  with  odious  subtlety 

The  cheerer  of  men's  hearts. 

Sad-eyed  Fakirs  swiftly  say 
Endless  dirges  to  decay, 
Never  in  the  blaze  of  light 
Lose  the  shudder  of  midnight ; 
Pale  at  overflowing  noon 
Hear  wolves  barking  at  the  moon  ; 
In  the  bower  of  dalliance  sweet 
Hear  the  far  Avenger's  feet ; 


SAADI. 


And  shake  before  those  awful  Powers, 
Who  in  their  pride  forgive  not  ours. 
Thus  the  sad-eyed  Fakirs  preach : 
Bard,  when  thee  would  Allah  teach, 
And  lift  thee  to  his  holy  mount, 
He  sends  thee  from  his  bitter  fount 
Wormwood,  —  saying,  "  Go  thy  ways  ; 
Drink  not  the  Malaga  of  praise, 
But  do  the  deed  thy  fellows  hate, 
And  compromise  thy  peaceful  state  ; 
Smite  the  white  breasts  which  thee  fed 
Stuff  sharp  thorns  beneath  the  head 
Of  them  thou  shouldst  have  comforted 
For  out  of  woe  and  out  of  crime 
Draws  the  heart  a  lore  sublime."  ' 
And  yet  it  seemeth  not  to  me 
That  the  high  gods  love  tragedy  ; 
For  Saadi  sat  in  the  sun, 
And  thanks  was  his  contrition  ; 
For  haircloth  and  for  bloody  whips, 
Had  active  hands  and  smiling  lips  ; 
And  yet  his  runes  he  rightly  read, 
And  to  his  folk  his  message  sped. 
Sunshine  in  his  heart  transferred 
Lighted  each  transparent  word, 
And  well  could  honoring  Persia  learn 
What  Saadi  wished  to  say  ; 
For  Saadi 's  nightly  stars  did  burn 
Brighter  than  Dschami's  day. 

Whispered  the  Muse  in  Saadi's  cot : 
4  O  gentle  Saadi,  listen  not, 
Tempted  by  thy  praise  of  wit, 


SAADI. 


Or  by  thirst  and  appetite 
For  the  talents  not  thine  own, 
To  sons  of  contradiction. 
Never,  son  of  eastern  morning, 
Follow  falsehood,  follow  scorning. 
Denounce  who  will,  who  will  deny, 
And  pile  the  hills  to  scale  the  sky ; 
Let  theist,  atheist,  pantheist, 
Define  and  wrangle  how  they  list, 
Fierce  conserver,  fierce  destroyer,  — 
But  thou,  joy-giver  and  enjoyer, 
Unknowing  war,  unknowing  crime, 
Gentle  Saadi,  mind  thy  rhyme  ; 
Heed  not  what  the  brawlers  say, 
Heed  thou  only  Saadi's  lay. 

*  Let  the  great  world  bustle  on 
With  war  and  trade,  with  camp  and  town 
A  thousand  men  shall  dig  and  eat ; 
At  forge  and  furnace  thousands  sweat ; 
And  thousands  sail  the  purple  sea, 
And  give  or  take  the  stroke  of  war, 
Or  crowd  the  market  and  bazaar ; 
Oft  shall  war  end,  and  peace  return, 
And  cities  rise  where  cities  burn, 
Ere  one  man  my  hill  shall  climb, 
Who  can  turn  the  golden  rhyme. 
Let  them  manage  how  they  may, 
Heed  thou  only  Saadi's  lay. 
Seek  the  living  among  the  dead,  — 
Man  in  man  is  imprisoned  ; 
Barefooted  Dervish  is  not  poor, 
If  fate  unlock  his  bosom's  door, 


SAADI. 


So  that  what  his  eye  hath  seen 

His  tongue  can  paint  as  bright,  as  keen ; 

And  what  his  tender  heart  hath  felt 

With  equal  fire  thy  heart  shalt  melt. 

For,  whom  the  Muses  smile  upon, 

And  touch  with  soft  persuasion, 

His  words  like  a  storm- wind  can  bring 

Terror  and  beauty  on  their  wing  ; 

In  his  every  syllable 

Lurketh  nature  veritable  ; 

And  though  he  speak  in  midnight  dark,  — 

In  heaven  no  star,  on  earth  no  spark,  — 

Yet  before  the  listener's  eye 

Swims  the  world  in  ecstasy, 

The  forest  waves,  the  morning  breaks, 

The  pastures  sleep,  ripple  the  lakes, 

Leaves  twinkle,  flowers  like  persons  be, 

And  life  pulsates  in  rock  or  tree. 

Saadi,  so  far  thy  words  shall  reach  : 

Suns  rise  and  set  in  Saadi's  speech  ! ' 

And  thus  to  Saadi  said  the  Muse  : 
'Eat  thou  the  bread  which  men  refuse  ; 
Flee  from  the  goods  which  from  thee  flee  ; 
Seek  nothing,  —  Fortune  seeketh  thee. 
Nor  mount,  nor  dive  ;  all  good  things  keep 
The  midway  of  the  eternal  deep. 
Wish  not  to  fill  the  isles  with  eyes 
To  fetch  thee  birds  of  paradise  : 
On  thine  orchard's  edge  belong 
All  the  brags  of  plume  and  song  ; 
Wise  Ali's  sunbright  sayings  pass 
For  proverbs  in  the  market-place  : 


SAADI. 


Through  mountains  bored  by  regal  art, 
Toil  whistles  as  he  drives  his  cart. 
Nor  scour  the  seas,  nor  sift  mankind, 
A  poet  or  a  friend  to  find  : 
Behold,  he  watches  at  the  door  ! 
Behold  his  shadow  on  the  floor  ! 
Open  innumerable  doors 
The  heaven  where  unveiled  Allah  pours 
The  flood  of  truth,  the  flood  of  good, 
The  Seraph's  and  the  Cherub's  food. 
Those  doors  are  men  :  the  Pariah  hind 
Admits  thee  to  the  perfect  Mind. 
Seek  not  beyond  thy  cottage  wall 
Redeemers  that  can  yield  thee  all  : 
While  thou  sittest  at  thy  door 
On  the  desert's  yellow  floor, 
Listening  to  the  gray-haired  crones, 
Foolish  gossips,  ancient  drones, 
Saadi,  see  !  they  rise  in  stature 
To  the  height  of  mighty  Nature, 
And  the  secret  stands  revealed 
Fraudulent  Time  in  vain  concealed,  — 
That  blessed  gods  in  servile  masks 
Plied  for  thee  thy  household  tasks.' 


HOLIDAYS. 


From  fall  to  spring,  the  russet  acorn, 
Fruit  beloved  of  maid  and  boy, 

Lent  itself  beneath  the  forest, 
To  be  the  children's  toy. 

Pluck  it  now  !    In  vain,  —  thou  canst  not  ; 

Its  root  has  pierced  yon  shady  mound  ; 
Toy  no  longer  —  it  has  duties  ; 

It  is  anchored  in  the  ground. 

Year  by  year  the  rose-lipped  maiden, 

Playfellow  of  young  and  old, 
Was  frolic  sunshine,  dear  to  all  men, 

More  dear  to  one  than  mines  of  gold. 

Whither  went  the  lovely  hoyden  ? 

Disappeared  in  blessed  wife  ; 
Servant  to  a  wooden  cradle, 

Living  in  a  baby's  life. 

Still  thou  playest  ;  —  short  vacation 
Fate  grants  each  to  stand  aside  ; 

Now  must  thou  be  man  and  artist,  — 
'T  is  the  turning  of  the  tide. 

(142) 


XENOPHANES. 

By  fate,  not  option,  frugal  Nature  gave 

One  scent  to  hyson  and  to  wall-flower, 

One  sound  to  pine-groves  and  to  waterfalls, 

One  aspect  to  the  desert  and  the  lake. 

It  was  her  stern  necessity  :  all  things 

Are  of  one  pattern  made  ;  bird,  beast  and  flower, 

Song,  picture,  form,  space,  thought  and  character 

Deceive  us,  seeming  to  be  many  things, 

And  are  but  one.    Beheld  far  off,  they  part 

As  God  and  devil  ;  bring  them  to  the  mind, 

They  dull  its  edge  with  their  monotony. 

To  know  one  element,  explore  another, 

And  in  the  second  reappears  the  first. 

The  specious  panorama  of  a  year 

But  multiplies  the  image  of  a  day,  — 

A  belt  of  mirrors  round  a  taper's  flame  ; 

And  universal  Nature,  through  her  vast 

And  crowded  whole,  an  infinite  paroquet, 

Repeats  one  note. 

(143) 


THE  DAY'S  RATION. 


When  I  was  born, 
From  all  the  seas  of  strength  Fate  filled  a  chalice, 
Saying,  1  This  be  thy  portion,  child  ;  this  chalice, 
Less  than  a  lily's,  thou  shalt  daily  draw 
From  my  great  arteries.  —  nor  less,  nor  more.' 
All  substances  the  cunning  chemist  Time 
Melts  down  into  that  liquor  of  my  life,  — 
Friends,  foes,  joys,  fortunes,  beauty  and  disgust. 
And  whether  I  am  angry  or  content, 
Indebted  or  insulted,  loved  or  hurt, 
All  he  distils  into  sidereal  wine 
And  brims  my  little  cup  ;  heedless,  alas  ! 
Of  all  he  sheds  how  little  it  will  hold, 
How  much  runs  over  on  the  desert  sands. 
If  a  new  Muse  draw  me  with  splendid  raj, 
And  I  uplift  myself  into  its  heaven, 
The  needs  of  the  first  sight  absorb  my  blood, 
And  all  the  following  hours  of  the  day 
Drag  a  ridiculous  age. 

To-day,  when  friends  approach,  and  every  hour 
Brings  book,  or  starbright  scroll  of  genius, 
The  little  cup  will  hold  not  a  bead  more, 
And  all  the  costly  liquor  rims  to  waste  ; 
Nor  gives  the  jealous  lord  one  diamond  drop 
So  to  be  husbanded  for  poorer  days. 
Why  need  I  volumes,  if  one  word  suffice  ? 
"Why  need  I  galleries,  when  a  pupil's  draught 
After  the  master's  sketch  fills  and  o'erfills 
(1U) 


THE  DAY'S  RATION. 


145 


My  apprehension  ?    Why  seek  Italy, 
Who  cannot  circumnavigate  the  sea 
Of  thoughts  and  things  at  home,  but  still  adjourn 
The  nearest  matters  for  a  thousand  days  ? 
10 


BLIGHT. 


Give  me  truths  ; 
For  I  am  weary  of  the  surfaces, 
And  die  of  inanition.    If  I  knew 
Only  the  herbs  and  simples  of  the  wood, 
Rue,  cinquefoil,  gill,  vervain  and  agrimony, 
Blue-vetch  and  trillium,  hawkweed,  sassafras, 
Milkweeds  and  murky  brakes,  quaint  pipes  and  sundew, 
And  rare  and  virtuous  roots,  which  in  these  woods 
Draw  untold  juices  from  the  common  earth, 
Untold,  unknown,  and  I  could  surely  spell 
Their  fragrance,  and  their  chemistry  apply 
By  sweet  affinities  to  human  flesh, 
Driving  the  foe  and  stablishing  the  friend,  — 
0,  that  were  much,  and  I  could  be  a  part 
Of  the  round  day,  related  to  the  sun 
And  planted  world,  and  full  executor 
Of  their  imperfect  functions. 
But  these  young  scholars,  who  invade  our  hills, 
Bold  as  the  engineer  who  fells  the  wood, 
And  travelling*  often  in  the  cut  he  makes, 
Love  not  the  flower  they  pluck,  and  know  it  not, 
And  all  their  botany  is  Latin  names. 
The  old  men  studied  magic  in  the  flowers, 
And  human  fortunes  in  astronomy, 
And  an  omnipotence  in  chemistry, 
Preferring  things  to  names,  for  these  were  men, 
TVere  unitarians  of  the  united  world, 
And,  wheresoever  their  clear  eve-beams  fell, 
(146) 


BLIGHT. 


147 


They  caught  the  footsteps  of  the  Same.    Our  eyes 

Are  armed,  but  we  are  strangers  to  the  stars, 

And  strangers  to  the  mystic  beast  and  bird, 

And  strangers  to  the  plant  and  to  the  mine. 

The  injured  elements  say,  6  Not  in  us  ; ' 

And  night  and  day,  ocean  and  continent, 

Fire,  plant  and  mineral  say,  4  Not  in  us  ; ' 

And  haughtily  return  us  stare  for  stare. 

For  we  invade  them  impiously  for  gain  ; 

We  devastate  them  unreligiously, 

And  coldly  as  their  pottage,  not  their  love. 

Therefore  they  shove  us  from  them,  yield  to  us 

Only  what  to  our  griping  toil  is  due  ; 

But  the  sweet  affluence  of  love  and  song, 

The  rich  results  of  the  divine  consents 

Of  man  and  earth,  of  world  beloved  and  lover, 

The  nectar  and  ambrosia,  are  withheld  ; 

And  in  the  midst  of  spoils  and  slaves,  we  thieves 

And  pirates  of  the  universe,  shut  out 

Daily  to  a  more  thin  and  outward  rind, 

Turn  pale  and  starve.    Therefore,  to  our  sick  eyes, 

The  stunted  trees  look  sick,  the  summer  short, 

Clouds  shade  the  sun,  which  will  not  tan  our  hay, 

And  nothing  thrives  to  reach  its  natural  term ; 

And  life,  shorn  of  its  venerable  length, 

Even  at  its  greatest  space  is  a  defeat, 

And  dies  in  anger  that  it  was  a  dupe  ; 

And,  in  its  highest  noon  and  wantonness, 

Is  early  frugal,  like  a  beggar's  child  ; 

Even  in  the  hot  pursuit  of  the  best  aims 

And  prizes  of  ambition,  checks  its  hand, 

Like  Alpine  cataracts  frozen  as  they  leaped, 

Chilled  with  a  miserly  comparison 

Of  the  toy's  purchase  with  the  length  of  life. 


MUSKETAQUID. 


Because  I  was  content  with  these  poor  fields, 

Low,  open  meads,  slender  and  sluggish  streams, 

And  found  a  home  in  haunts  which  others  scorned, 

The  partial  wood-gods  overpaid  my  love, 

And  granted  me  the  freedom  of  their  state, 

And  in  their  secret  senate  have  prevailed 

With  the  dear,  dangerous  lords  that  rule  our  life, 

Made  moon  and  planets  parties  to  their  bond, 

And  through  my  rock-like,  solitary  wont 

Shot  million  rays  of  thought  and  tenderness. 

For  me,  in  showers,  in  sweeping  showers,  the  Spring 

Visits  the  valley  ;  —  break  away  the  clouds,  — 

I  bathe  in  the  morn's  soft  and  silvered  air, 

And  loiter  willing  by  yon  loitering  stream. 

Sparrows  far  off,  and  nearer,  April's  bird, 

Blue-coated,  —  flying  before  from  tree  to  tree, 

Courageous  sing  a  delicate  overture 

To  lead  the  tardy  concert  of  the  year. 

Onward  and  nearer  rides  the  sun  of  May  ; 

And  wide  around,  the  marriage  of  the  plants 

Is  sweetly  solemnized.    Then  flows  amain 

The  surge  of  summer's  beauty  ;  dell  and  crag, 

Hollow  and  lake,  hill-side  and  pine  arcade, 

Are  touched  with  genius.    Yonder  ragged  cliff 

Has  thousand  faces  in  a  thousand  hours. 

Beneath  low  hills,  in  the  broad  interval 
Through  which  at  will  our  Indian  rivulet 
(148) 


MUSKETAQUID. 


149 


Winds  mindful  still  of  sannup  and  of  squaw, 
Whose  pipe  and  arrow  oft  the  plough  unburies, 
Here  in  pine  houses  built  of  new-fallen  trees, 
Supplanters  of  the  tribe,  the  farmers  dwell. 
Traveller,  to  thee,  perchance,  a  tedious  road, 
Or,  it  may  be,  a  picture  ;  to  these  men, 
The  landscape  is  an  armory  of  powers, 
Which,  one  by  one,  they  know  to  draw  and  use. 
They  harness  beast,  bird,  insect,  to  their  work  ; 
They  prove  the  virtues  of  each  bed  of  rock, 
And,  like  the  chemist  mid  his  loaded  jars, 
Draw  from  each  stratum  its  adapted  use 
To  drug  their  crops  or  weapon  their  arts  withal. 
They  turn  the  frost  upon  their  chemic  heap, 
They  set  the  wind  to  winnow  pulse  and  grain, 
They  thank  the  spring-flood  for  its  fertile  slime, 
And,  on  cheap  summit-levels  of  the  snow, 
Slide  with  the  sledge  to  inaccessible  woods 
O'er  meadows  bottomless.    So,  year  by  year, 
They  fight  the  elements  with  elements, 
(That  one  would  say,  meadow  and  forest  walked, 
Transmuted  in  these  men  to  rule  their  like,) 
And  by  the  order  in  the  field  disclose 
The  order  regnant  in  the  yeoman's  brain. 

What  these  strong  masters  wrote  at  large  in  miles, 

I  followed  in  small  copy  in  my  acre  ; 

For  there 's  no  rood  has  not  a  star  above  it  ; 

The  cordial  quality  of  pear  or  plum 

Ascends  as  gladly  in  a  single  tree 

As  in  b^ond  orchards  resonant  with  bees  ; 

And  every  atom  poises  for  itself, 

And  for  the  whole     The  gentle  deities 


150 


MUSKETAQUID. 


Showed  me  the  lore  of  colors  and  of  sounds, 
The  innumerable  tenements  of  beauty, 
The  miracle  of  generative  force, 
Far-reaching  concords  of  astronomy 
Felt  in  the  plants  and  in  the  punctual  birds  ; 
Better,  the  linked  purpose  of  the  whole, 
And,  chief  est  prize,  found  I  true  liberty 
In  the  glad  home  plain-dealing  Nature  gave 
The  polite  found  me  impolite  ;  the  great 
Would  mortify  me,  but  in  vain  ;  for  still 
I  am  a  willow  of  the  wilderness, 
Loving  the  wind  that  bent  me.    All  my  hurts 
My  garden  spade  can  heal.    A  woodland  walk, 
A  quest  of  river-grapes,  a  mocking  thrush, 
A  wild -rose,  or  rock-loving  columbine, 
Salve  my  worst  wounds. 

For  thus  the  wood-gods  murmured  in  my  ear  : 
*  Dost  love  our  manners  ?    Canst  thou  silent  lie  ? 
Canst  thou,  thy  pride  forgot,  like  nature  pass 
Into  the  winter  night's  extinguished  mood  ? 
Canst  thou  shine  now,  then  darkle, 
And  being  latent,  feel  thyself  no  less.  ? 
As,  when  the  all-worshipped  moon  attracts  the  eye, 
The  river,  hill,  stems,  foliage  are  obscure, 
Yet  envies  none,  none  are  unenviable.' 


DIRGE. 


CONCORD,  1838. 

I  reached  the  middle  of  the  mount 

Up  which  the  incarnate  soul  must  climb, 

And  paused  for  them,  and  looked  around, 

With  me  who  walked  through  space  and  time. 

Five  rosy  boys  with  morning  light 

Had  leaped  from  one  fair  mother's  arms, 

Fronted  the  sun  with  hope  as  bright, 

And  greeted  God  with  childhood's  psalms. 


Knows  he  who  tills  this  lonely  field 

To  reap  its  scanty  corn, 
What  mystic  fruit  his  acres  yield 

At  midnight  and  at  morn  ? 

In  the  long  sunny  afternoon 
The  plain  was  full  of  ghosts  ; 

I  wandered  up,  I  wandered  down, 
Beset  by  pensive  hosts. 

The  winding  Concord  gleamed  below, 

Pouring  as  wide  a  flood 
As  when  my  brothers,  long  ago, 

Came  with  me  to  the  wood. 
(151) 


DIRGE. 


But  they  are  gone,  —  the  holy  ones 
Who  trod  with  me  this  lovely  vale  ; 

The  strong,  star-bright  companions 
Are  silent,  low  and  pale. 

My  good,  my  noble,  in  their  prime, 
Who  made  this  world  the  feast  it  was, 

Who  learned  with  me  the  lore  of  time, 
Who  loved  this  dwelling-place  ! 

They  took  this  valley  for  their  toy, 
They  played  with  it  in  every  mood ; 

A  cell  for  prayer,  a  hall  for  joy,  — 
They  treated  nature  as  they  would. 

They  colored  the  horizon  round  ; 

Stars  flamed  and  faded  as  they  bade, 
All  echoes  hearkened  for  their  sound,  — 

They  made  the  woodlands  glad  or  mad. 

I  touch  this  flower  of  silken  leaf, 
Which  once  our  childhood  knew  ; 

Its  soft  leaves  wound  me  with  a  grief 
Whose  balsam  never  grew. 

Hearken  to  yon  pine-warbler 

Singing  aloft  in  the  tree  ! 
Hear  est  thou,  0  traveller, 

What  he  singeth  to  me  ? 

Not  unless  God  made  sharp  thine  ear 

With  sorrow  such  as  mine, 
Out  of  that  delicate  lay  could'st  thou 

Its  heavy  tale  divine. 


DIRGE. 


153 


'Go,  lonely  man,'  it  saith  ; 

6  They  loved  thee  from  their  birth  ; 
Their  hands  were  pure,  and  pure  their  faith,  — 
There  are  no  such  hearts  on  earth. 

'Ye  drew  one  mother's  milk, 

One  chamber  held  ye  all ; 
A  very  tender  history 

Did  in  your  childhood  fall. 

*  You  cannot  unlock  your  heart, 

The  key  is  gone  with  them  ; 
The  silent  organ  loudest  chants 

The  master's  requiem.' 


THRENODY. 


The  South-wind  brings 

Life,  sunshine  and  desire, 

And  on  every  mount  and  meadow 

Breathes  aromatic  fire  ; 

But  over  the  dead  he  has  no  power, 

The  lost,  the  lost,  he  cannot  restore  ; 

And,  looking  over  the  hills,  I  mourn 

The  darling  who  shall  not  return. 

I  see  my  empty  house, 
I  see  my  trees  repair  their  boughs  ; 
And  he,  the  wondrous  child, 
Whose  silver  warble  wild 
Outvalued  every  pulsing  sound 
Within  the  air's  cerulean  round,  — 
The  hyacinthine  boy,  for  whom 
Morn  well  might  break  and  April  bloom,  — 
The  gracious  boy,  who  did  adorn 
The  world  whereinto  he  was  born, 
And  by  his  countenance  repay 
The  favor  of  the  loving  Bay,  — 
Has  disappeared  from  the  Day's  eye  ; 
Far  and  wide  she  cannot  find  him  ; 
My  hopes  pursue,  they  cannot  bind  him. 
Returned  this  day,  the  south  wind  searches, 
And  finds  young  pines  and  budding  birches  ; 
But  finds  not  the  budding  man  ; 
Nature,  who  lost,  cannot  remake  him  ; 
(154) 


THRENODY. 


155 


Fate  let  him  fall,  Fate  can't  retake  him  ; 
Nature,  Fate,  men,  him  seek  in  vain. 

And  whither  now,  my  truant  wise  and  sweet, 

O,  whither  tend  thy  feet  ? 

I  had  the  right,  few  days  ago, 

Thy  steps  to  watch,  thy  place  to  know  : 

How  have  I  forfeited  the  right  ? 

Hast  thou  forgot  me  in  a  new  delight  ? 

I  hearken  for  thy  household  cheer, 

O  eloquent  child  ! 

Whose  voice,  an  equal  messenger, 

Conveyed  thy  meaning  mild. 

What  though  the  pains  and  joys 

Whereof  it  spoke  were  toys 

Fitting  his  age  and  ken, 

Yet  fairest  dames  and  bearded  men, 

Who  heard  the  sweet  request, 

So  gentle,  wise  and  grave, 

Bended  with  joy  to  his  behest 

And  let  the  world's  affairs  go  by, 

A  while  to  share  his  cordial  game, 

Or  mend  his  wicker  wagon-frame, 

Still  plotting  how  their  hungry  ear 

That  winsome  voice  again  might  hear  ; 

For  his  lips  could  well  pronounce 

Words  that  were  persuasions. 

Gentlest  guardians  marked  serene 
His  early  hope,  his  liberal  mien  ; 
Took  counsel  from  his  guiding  eyes 
To  make  this  wisdom  earthly  wise. 
Ah,  vainly  do  these  eyes  recall 


THRENODY. 


The  school-march,  each  day's  festival, 
When  every  morn  my  bosom  glowed 
To  watch  the  convoy  on  the  road  ; 
The  babe  in  willow  wagon  closed, 
With  rolling  eyes  and  face  composed  ; 
With  children  forward  and  behind, 
Like  Cupids  studiously  inclined  ; 
And  he  the  chieftain  paced  beside, 
The  centre  of  the  troop  allied, 
With  sunny  face  of  sweet  repose, 
To  guard  the  babe  from  fancied  foes. 
The  little  captain  innocent 
Took  the  eye  with  him  as  he  went ; 
Each  village  senior  paused  to  scan 
And  speak  the  lovely  caravan. 
From  the  window  I  look  out 
To  mark  thy  beautiful  parade, 
Stately  marching  in  cap  and  coat 
To  some  tune  by  fairies  played  ;  — 
A  music  heard  by  thee  alone 
To  works  as  noble  led  thee  on. 

Now  Love  and  Pride,  alas  !  in  vain, 

Up  and  down  their  glances  strain. 

The  painted  sled  stands  where  it  stood  ; 

The  kennel  by  the  corded  wood ; 

His  gathered  sticks  to  stanch  the  wall 

Of  the  snow-tower,  when  snow  should  fall ; 

The  ominous  hole  he  dug  in  the  sand, 

And  childhood's  castles  built  or  planned  i 

His  daily  haunts  I  well  discern,  — 

The  poultry-yard,  the  shed,  the  bariv  — 

And  every  inch  of  garden  ground 


THRENODY. 


157 


Paced  by  the  blessed  feet  around, 

From  the  roadside  to  the  brook 

Whereinto  he  loved  to  look. 

Step  the  meek  fowls  where  erst  they  ranged  ; 

The  wintry  garden  lies  unchanged ; 

The  brook  into  the  stream  runs  on  ; 

But  the  deep-eyed  boy  is  gone. 

On  that  shaded  day, 

Dark  with  more  clouds  than  tempests  are, 

When  thou  didst  yield  thy  innocent  breath 

In  birdlike  heavings  unto  death, 

Night  came,  and  Nature  had  not  thee  ; 

I  said,  4  We  are  mates  in  misery.' 

The  morrow  dawned  with  needless  glow  ; 

Each  snowbird  chirped,  each  fowl  must  crow  ; 

Each  tramper  started  ;  but  the  feet 

Of  the  most  beautiful  and  sweet 

Of  human  youth  had  left  the  hill 

And  garden,  —  they  were  bound  and  still. 

There 's  not  a  sparrow  or  a  wren, 

There 's  not  a  blade  of  autumn  grain, 

Which  the  four  seasons  do  not  tend 

And  tides  of  life  and  increase  lend  ; 

And  every  chick  of  every  bird, 

And  weed  and  rock-moss  is  preferred. 

O  ostrich-like  forgetfulness  ! 

O  loss  of  larger  in  the  less  ! 

Was  there  no  star  that  could  be  sent, 

No  watcher  in  the  firmament, 

No  angel  from  the  countless  host 

That  loiters  round  the  crystal  coast, 

Could  stoop  to  Leal  that  only  child, 


158 


THRENODY. 


Nature's  sweet  marvel  undefiled, 

And  keep  the  blossom  of  the  earth, 

Which  all  her  harvests  were  not  worth  ? 

Not  mine,  —  I  never  called  thee  mine, 

But  Nature's  heir,  —  if  I  repine, 

And  seeing  rashly  torn  and  moved, 

Not  what  I  made,  but  what  I  loved, 

Grow  early  old  with  grief  that  thou 

Must  to  the  wastes  of  Nature  go,  — 

'T  is  because  a  general  hope 

Was  quenched,  and  all  must  doubt  and  grope. 

For  nattering  planets  seemed  to  say 

This  child  should  ills  of  ages  stay, 

By  wondrous  tongue,  and  guided  pen, 

Bring  the  flown  Muses  back  to  men. 

Perchance  not  he  but  Nature  ailed, 

The  world  and  not  the  infant  failed. 

It  was  not  ripe  yet  to  sustain 

A  genius  of  so  fine  a  strain, 

Who  gazed  upon  the  sun  and  moon 

As  if  he  came  unto  his  own, 

And,  pregnant  with  his  grander  thought, 

Brought  the  old  order  into  doubt. 

His  beauty  once  their  beauty  tried  ; 

They  could  not  feed  him,  and  he  died, 

And  wandered  backward  as  in  scorn, 

To  wait  an  a3on  to  be  born. 

Ill  day  which  made  this  beauty  waste, 

Plight  broken,  this  high  face  defaced  ! 

Some  went  and  came  about  the  dead  ; 

And  some  in  books  of  solace  read  ; 

Some  to  their  friends  the  tidings  say  ; 

Some  went  to  write,  some  went  to  pray  ; 


THRENODY. 


One  tarried  here,  there  hurried  one  ; 
But  their  heart  abode  with  none. 
Covetous  death  bereaved  us  all, 
To  aggrandize  one  funeral. 
The  eager  fate  which  carried  thee 
Took  the  largest  part  of  me  : 
For  this  losing  is  true  dying  ; 
This  is  lordly  man's  down-lying, 
This  Ins  slow  but  sure  reclining, 
Star  by  star  his  world  resigning. 

0  child  of  paradise, 

Boy  who  made  dear  his  father's  home, 
In  whose  deep  eyes 

Men  read  the  welfare  of  the  times  to  come, 

1  am  too  much  bereft. 

The  world  dishonored  thou  hast  left. 
O  truth's  and  nature's  costly  lie  ! 
O  trusted  broken  prophecy  ! 
O  richest  fortune  sourly  crossed  ! 
Born  for  the  future,  to  the  future  lost ! 

The  deep  Heart  answered,  1  Weepest  thou  ? 
Worthier  cause  for  passion  wild 
If  I  had  not  taken  the  child. 
And  deemest  thou  as  those  who  pore, 
With  aged  eyes,  short  way  before,  — 
Think'st  Beauty  vanished  from  the  coast 
Of  matter,  and  thy  darling  lost  ? 
Taught  he  not  thee  —  the  man  of  eld, 
Whose  eyes  within  his  eyes  beheld 
Heaven's  numerous  hierarchy  span 
The  mystic  gulf  from  God  to  man  ? 


160 


THRENODY. 


To  be  alone  wilt  thou  begin 

When  worlds  of  lovers  hem  thee  in  ? 

To-morrow,  when  the  masks  shall  fall 

That  clizen  Nature's  carnival, 

The  pure  shall  see  by  their  own  will, 

Which  overflowing  Love  shall  fill, 

'T  is  not  within  the  force  of  fate 

The  fate-conjoined  to  separate. 

But  thou,  my  votary,  weepest  thou  ? 

I  gave  thee  sight  —  where  is  it  now  ? 

I  taught  thy  heart  beyond  the  reach 

Of  ritual,  bible,  or  of  speech  ; 

Wrote  in  thy  mind's  transparent  table, 

As  far  as  the  incommunicable  ; 

Taught  thee  each  private  sign  to  raise 

Lit  by  the  super  solar  blaze. 

Past  utterance,  and  past  belief, 

And  past  the  blasphemy  of  grief, 

The  mysteries  of  Nature's  heart ; 

And  though  no  Muse  can  these  impart, 

Throb  thine  with  Nature's  throbbing  breast, 

And  all  is  clear  from  east  to  west. 

6 1  came  to  thee  as  to  a  friend  ; 
Dearest,  to  thee  I  did  not  send 
Tutors,  but  a  joyful  eye, 
Innocence  that  matched  the  sky, 
Lovely  locks,  a  form  of  wonder, 
Laughter  rich  as  woodland  thunder, 
That  thou  might'st  entertain  apart 
The  richest  flowering  of  all  art  : 
And,  as  the  great  all-loving  Day 
Through  smallest  chambers  takes  its  way, 


THEENODY. 


161 


That  thou  might'st  break  thy  daily  bread 
With  prophet,  savior  and  head  ; 
That  thou  might'st  cherish  for  thine  own 
The  riches  of  sweet  Mary's  Son, 
Boy-Rabbi  Israel's  paragon. 
And  thoughtest  thou  such  guest 
Would  in  thy  hall  take  up  his  rest  ? 
Would  rushing  life  forget  her  laws, 
Fate's  glowing  revolution  pause  ? 
High  omens  ask  diviner  guess  ; 
Not  to  be  conned  to  tediousness. 
And  know  my  higher  gifts  unbind 
The  zone  that  girds  the  incarnate  mind. 
When  the  scanty  shores  are  full 
With  Thought's  perilous,  whirling  pool  ; 
When  frail  Nature  can  no  more, 
Then  the  Spirit  strikes  the  hour  : 
My  servant  Death,  with  solving  rite, 
Pours  finite  into  infinite. 
Wilt  thou  freeze  love's  tidal  flow, 
Whose  streams  through  nature  circling  go  ? 
Nail  the  wild  star  to  its  track 
On  the  half -climbed  zodiac  ? 
Light  is  light  which  radiates, 
Blood  is  blood  which  circulates, 
Life  is  life  which  generates, 
And  many-seeming  life  is  one,  — - 
Wilt  thou  transfix  and  make  it  none  ? 
Its  onward  force  too  starkly  pent 
In  figure,  bone  and  lineament  ? 
Wilt  thou,  uncalled,  interrogate, 
Talker  !  the  unreplying  Fate  ? 
Nor  see  the  genius  of  the  whole 
11 


162 


THRENODY. 


Ascendant  in  the  private  soul, 
Beckon  it  when  to  go  and  come, 
Self-announced  its  hour  of  doom  ? 
Fair  the  soul's  recess  and  shrine, 
Magic-built  to  last  a  season  ; 
Masterpiece  of  love  benign, 
Fairer  that  expansive  reason 
Whose  omen 't  is,  and  sign. 
Wilt  thou  not  ope  thy  heart  to  know 
What  rainbows  teach,  and  sunsets  show  ? 
Verdict  which  accumulates 
From  lengthening  scroll  of  human  fates, 
Voice  of  earth  to  earth  returned, 
Prayers  of  saints  that  inly  burned,  — 
Saying,  What  is  excellent, 
As  God  lives,  is  permanent ; 
Hearts  are  dust,  hearts'  loves  remain  / 
Hearth  love  will  meet  thee  again. 
Revere  the  Maker  ;  fetch  thine  eye 
Up  to  his  style,  and  manners  of  the  sky. 
Not  of  adamant  and  gold 
Built  he  heaven  stark  and  cold  ; 
No,  but  a  nest  of  bending  reeds, 
Flowering  grass  and  scented  weeds  ; 
Or  like  a  traveller's  fleeing  tent, 
Or  bow  above  the  tempest  bent ; 
Built  of  tears  and  sacred  flames, 
And  virtue  reaching  to  its  aims  ; 
Built  of  furtherance  and  pursuing, 
Not  of  spent  deeds,  but  of  doing. 
Silent  rushes  the  swift  Lord 
Through  ruined  systems  still  restored, 
Broadsowing,  bleak  and  void  to  bless, 


THRENODY. 


Plants  with  worlds  the  wilderness  ; 
Waters  with  tears  of  ancient  sorrow 
Apples  of  Eden  ripe  to-morrow. 
House  and  tenant  go  to  ground, 
Lost  in  God,  in  Godhead  found.' 


COXCOED  HYMN: 

SUNG  AT  THE  COMPLETION  OF  THE  BATTLE  MONUMENT, 
APRIL  19, 1836. 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept ; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps  ; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 

On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone  ; 
That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 
To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 

Bid  Time  and  Xature  gently  spare 
The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 
(164) 


II. 

MAY-DAY  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 


MAY-DAY. 

Daughter  of  Heaven  and  Earth,  coy  Spring, 
With  sudden  passion  languishing, 
Teaching  barren  moors  to  smile, 
Painting  pictures  mile  on  mile, 
Holds  a  cup  with  cowslip-wreaths, 
Whence  a  smokeless  incense  breathes. 
The  air  is  full  of  whistlings  bland  ; 
What  was  that  I  heard 
Out  of  the  hazy  land  ? 
Harp  of  the  wind,  or  song  of  bird, 
Or  vagrant  booming  of  the  air, 
Voice  of  a  meteor  lost  in  day  ? 
Such  tidings  of  the  starry  sphere 
Can  this  elastic  air  convey. 
Or  haply 't  was  the  cannonade 
Of  the  pent  and  darkened  lake, 
Cooled  by  the  pendent  mountain's  shade, 
Whose  deeps,  till  beams  of  noonday  break, 
Afflicted  moan,  and  latest  hold 
Even  into  May  the  iceberg  cold. 
Was  it  a  squirrel's  pettish  bark, 
Or  clarionet  of  jay  ?  or  hark 
Where  yon  wedged  line  the  JNestor  leads, 
Steering  north  with  raucous  cry 
Through  tracts  and  provinces  of  sky, 
Every  night  alighting  down 
(167) 


MAY-DAY. 


In  new  landscapes  of  romance, 
Where  darkling  feed  the  clamorous  clans 
By  lonely  lakes  to  men  unknown. 
Come  the  tumult  whence  it  will, 
Voice  of  sport,  or  rush  of  wings, 
It  is  a  sound,  it  is  a  token 
That  the  marble  sleep  is  broken, 
And  a  change  has  passed  on  things. 

When  late  I  walked,  in  earlier  days, 
All  was  stiff  and  stark  ; 
Knee-deep  snows  choked  all  the  ways, 
In  the  sky  no  spark  ; 
Firm-braced  I  sought  my  ancient  woods. 
Struggling  through  the  drifted  roads  ; 
The  whited  desert  knew  me  not, 
Snow-ridges  masked  each  darling  spot ; 
The  summer  dells,  by  genius  haunted, 
One  arctic  moon  had  disenchanted. 
All  the  sweet  secrets  therein  hid 
By  Fancy,  ghastly  spells  undid. 
Eldest  mason,  Frost,  had  piled 
Swift  cathedrals  in  the  wild  ; 
The  piny  hosts  were  sheeted  ghosts 
In  the  star-lit  minster  aisled. 
I  found  no  joy  :  the  icy  wind 
Might  rule  the  forest  to  his  mind. 
Who  would  freeze  on  frozen  lakes  ? 
Back  to  books  and  sheltered  home, 
And  wood- fire  flickering  on  the  walls, 
To  hear,  when,  'mid  our  talk  and  games. 
Without  the  baffled  north- wind  calls. 
But  soft  I  a  sultry  morning  breaks  ; 


MAY -DAY. 


169 


The  ground-pines  wash  their  rusty  green, 
The  maple-tops  their  crimson  tint, 
On  the  soft  path  each  track  is  seen, 
The  girl's  foot  leaves  its  neater  print. 
The  pebble  loosened  from  the  frost 
Asks  of  the  urchin  to  be  tost. 
In  flint  and  marble  beats  a  heart, 
The  kind  Earth  takes  her  children's  part, 
The  green  lane  is  the  school-boy's  friend, 
Low  leaves  his  quarrel  apprehend, 
The  fresh  ground  loves  his  top  and  ball, 
The  air  rings  jocund  to  his  call, 
The  brimming  brook  invites  a  leap, 
He  dives  the  hollow,  climbs  the  steep. 

The  caged  linnet  in  the  spring 
Hearkens  for  the  choral  glee, 
When  his  fellows  on  the  wing 
Migrate  from  the  Southern  Sea  ; 
When  trellised  grapes  their  flowers  unmask, 
And  the  new-born  tendrils  twine, 
The  old  wine  darkling  in  the  cask 
Feels  the  bloom  on  the  living  vine, 
And  bursts  the  hoops  at  hint  of  spring : 
And  so,  perchance,  in  Adam's  race, 
Of  Eden's  bower  some  dream-like  trace 
Survived  the  Flight  and  swam  the  Flood, 
And  wakes  the  wish  in  youngest  blood 
To  tread  the  forfeit  Paradise, 
And  feed  once  more  the  exile's  eyes  ; 
And  ever  when  the  happy  child 
In  May  beholds  the  blooming  wild, 
And  hears  in  heaven  the  bluebird  sing, 


170 


MAY-DAY. 


"  Onward,"  he  cries,  "  your  baskets  bring,  — 
In  the  next  field  is  air  more  mild, 
And  o'er  yon  hazy  crest  is  Eden's  balmier  spring." 

Not  for  a  regiment's  parade, 
Nor  evil  laws  or  rulers  made, 
Blue  Walden  rolls  its  cannonade, 
But  for  a  lofty  sign 
Which  the  Zodiac  threw, 
That  the  bondage-days  are  told, 
And  waters  free  as  winds  shall  flow. 
Lo  !  how  all  the  tribes  combine 
To  rout  the  flying  foe. 
See,  every  patriot  oak-leaf  throws 
His  elfin  length  upon  the  snows, 
Not  idle,  since  the  leaf  all  day 
Draws  to  the  spot  the  solar  ray, 
Ere  sunset  quarrying  inches  down, 
And  half-way  to  the  mosses  brown  ; 
While  the  grass  beneath  the  rime 
Has  hints  of  the  propitious  time, 
And  upward  pries  and  perforates 
Through  the  cold  slab  a  thousand  gates, 
Till  green  lances  peering  through 
Bend  happy  in  the  welkin  blue. 

As  we  thaw  frozen  flesh  with  snow, 
So  Spring  will  not  her  time  forerun, 
Mix  polar  night  with  tropic  glow, 
Nor  cloy  us  with  unshaded  sun, 
Nor  wanton  skip  with  bacchic  dance, 
But  she  has  the  temperance 
Of  the  gods,  whereof  she  is  one,  — 


MAY-DAY. 


Masks  her  treasury  of  heat 

Under  east-winds  crossed  with  sleet. 

Plants  and  birds  and  humble  creatures 

Well  accept  her  rule  austere  ; 

Titan-born,  to  hardy  natures 

Cold  is  genial  and  dear. 

As  Southern  wrath  to  Northern  right 

Is  but  straw  to  anthracite  ; 

As  in  the  day  of  sacrifice, 

When  heroes  piled  the  pyre, 

The  dismal  Massachusetts  ice 

Burned  more  than  others'  fire, 

So  Spring  guards  with  surface  cold 

The  garnered  heat  of  ages  old. 

Hers  to  sow  the  seed  of  bread, 

That  man  and  all  the  kinds  be  fed  ; 

And,  when  the  sunlight  fills  the  hours, 

Dissolves  the  crust,  displays  the  flowers. 

Beneath  the  calm,  within  the  light, 
A  hid  unruly  appetite 
Of  swifter  life,  a  surer  hope, 
Strains  every  sense  to  larger  scope, 
Impatient  to  anticipate 
The  halting  steps  of  aged  Fate. 
Slow  grows  the  palm,  too  slow  the  pearl : 
When  Nature  falters,  fain  would  zeal 
Grasp  the  felloes  of  her  wheel, 
And  grasping  give  the  orbs  another  whirl. 
Turn  swiftlier  round,  O  tardy  ball  ! 
And  sun  this  frozen  side, 
Bring  hither  back  the  robin's  call, 
Bring  back  the  tulip's  pride. 


172 


MAY-DAY. 


Why  chidest  thou  the  tardy  Spring  ? 
The  hardy  bunting  does  not  chide  ; 
The  blackbirds  make  the  maples  ring 
With  social  cheer  and  jubilee  ; 
The  redwing  flutes  his  o-ka-lee, 
The  robins  know  the  melting  snow  ; 
The  sparrow  meek,  prophetic-eyed, 
Her  nest  beside  the  snow-drift  weaves, 
Secure  the  osier  yet  will  hide 
Her  callow  brood  with  mantling  leaves,  — 
And  thou,  by  science  all  undone, 
Why  only  must  thy  reason  fail 
To  see  the  southing  of  the  sun  ? 

The  world  rolls  round,  —  mistrust  it  not,  — 
Befalls  again  what  once  befell ; 
All  things  return,  both  sphere  and  mote, 
And  I  shall  hear  my  bluebird's  note, 
And  dream  the  dream  of  Auburn  dell. 

April  cold  with  dropping  rain 
Willows  and  lilacs  brings  again, 
The  whistle  of  returning  birds, 
And  trumpet-lowing  of  the  herds. 
The  scarlet  maple-keys  betray 
What  potent  blood  hath  modest  May, 
What  fiery  force  the  earth  renews, 
The  wealth  of  forms,  the  flush  of  hues  ; 
What  joy  in  rosy  waves  outpoured 
Flows  from  the  heart  of  Love,  the  Lord. 

Hither  rolls  the  storm  of  heat ; 
I  feel  its  finer  billows  beat 


MAY-DAY. 


Like  a  sea  which  me  infolds  ; 

Heat  with  viewless  fingers  moulds, 

Swells,  and  mellows,  and  matures, 

Paints,  and  flavors,  and  allures, 

Bird  and  brier  inly  warms, 

Still  enriches  and  transforms, 

Gives  the  reed  and  lily  length, 

Adds  to  oak  and  oxen  strength, 

Transforming  what  it  doth  infold, 

Life  out  of  death,  new  out  of  old, 

Painting  fawns'  and  leopards'  fells, 

Seethes  the  gulf-encrimsoning  shells, 

Fires  gardens  with  a  joyful  blaze 

Of  tulips,  in  the  morning's  rays. 

The  dead  log  touched  bursts  into  leaf, 

The  wheat-blade  whispers  of  the  sheaf. 

What  god  is  this  imperial  Heat, 

Earth's  prime  secret,  sculpture's  seat  ? 

Doth  it  bear  hidden  in  its  heart 

Water-line  patterns  of  all  art  ? 

Is  it  Daedalus  ?  is  it  Love  ? 

Or  walks  in  mask  almighty  Jove, 

And  drops  from  Power's  redundant  horn 

All  seeds  of  beauty  to  be  born  ? 

Where  shall  we  keep  the  holiday, 
And  duly  greet  the  entering  May  ? 
Too  strait  and  low  our  cottage  doors, 
And  all  unmeet  our  carpet  floors  ; 
Nor  spacious  court,  nor  monarch's  hall, 
Suffice  to  hold  the  festival. 
Up  and  away  !  where  haughty  woods 
Front  the  liberated  floods  : 


MAY-DAY. 


We  will  climb  the  broad-backed  hills, 

Hear  the  uproar  of  their  joy  ; 

We  will  mark  the  leaps  and  gleams 

Of  the  new-delivered  streams, 

And  the  murmuring  rivers  of  sap 

Mount  in  the  pipes  of  the  trees, 

Giddy  with  day,  to  the  topmost  spire, 

Which  for  a  spike  of  tender  green 

Bartered  its  powdery  cap  ; 

And  the  colors  of  joy  in  the  bird, 

And  the  love  in  its  carol  heard, 

Frog  and  lizard  in  holiday  coats, 

And  turtle  brave  in  his  golden  spots  ; 

While  cheerful  cries  from  crag  and  plain 

Reply  to  the  thunder  of  river  and  main. 

As  poured  the  flood  of  the  ancient  sea 
Spilling  over  mountain  chains, 
Bending  forests  as  bends  the  sedge, 
Faster  flowing  o'er  the  plains,  — 
A  world-wide  wave  with  a  foaming  edge 
That  rims  the  running  silver  sheet,  — 
So  pours  the  deluge  of  the  heat 
Broad  northward  o'er  the  land, 
Painting  artless  paradises, 
Drugging  herbs  with  Syrian  spices, 
Fanning  secret  fires  which  glow 
In  columbine  and  clover-blow, 
Climbing  the  northern  zones, 
Where  a  thousand  pallid  towns 
Lie  like  cockles  by  the  main, 
Or  tented  armies  on  a  plain. 
The  million-handed  sculptor  moulds 


MAY-DAY. 


175 


Quaintest  bud  and  blossom  folds, 
The  million-handed  painter  pours 
Opal  hues  and  purple  dye  ; 
Azaleas  flush  the  island  floors, 
And  the  tints  of  heaven  reply. 

Wreaths  for  the  May  !  for  happy  Spring 
To-day  shall  all  her  dowry  bring, 
The  love  of  kind,  the  joy,  the  grace, 
Hymen  of  element  and  race, 
Knowing  well  to  celebrate 
With  song  and  hue  and  star  and  state, 
With  tender  light  and  youthful  cheer, 
The  spousals  of  the  new-born  year. 

Spring  is  strong  and  virtuous, 
Broad-sowing,  cheerful,  plenteous, 
Quickening  underneath  the  mould 
Grains  beyond  the  price  of  gold. 
So  deep  and  large  her  bounties  are, 
That  one  broad,  long  midsummer  day 
Shall  to  the  planet  overpay 
The  ravage  of  a  year  of  war. 

Drug  the  cup  thou  butler  sweet, 
And  send  the  nectar  round  ; 
The  feet  that  slid  so  long  on  sleet 
Are  glad  to  feel  the  ground. 
Fill  and  saturate  each  kind 
With  good  according  to  its  mind, 
Fill  each  kind  and  saturate 
With  good  agreeing  with  its  fate, 
And  soft  perfection  of  its  plan  — ■ 
Willow  and  violet,  maiden  and  man. 


176 


MAY-DAY. 


The  bitter-sweet,  the  haunting  air 
Creepeth,  bloweth  everywhere  ; 
It  preys  on  all,  all  prey  on  it, 
Blooms  in  beauty,  thinks  in  wit, 
Stings  the  strong  with  enterprise, 
Makes  travellers  long  for  Indian  skies, 
And  where  it  conies  this  courier  fleet 
Fans  in  all  hearts  expectance  sweet, 
As  if  to-morrow  should  redeem 
The  vanished  rose  of  evening's  dream. 
By  houses  lies  a  fresher  green, 
On  men  and  maids  a  ruddier  mien, 
As  if  time  brought  a  new  relay 
Of  shining  virgins  every  May, 
Ajid  Summer  came  to  ripen  maids 
To  a  beauty  that  not  fades. 

I  saw  the  bud-crowned  Spring  go  forth, 
Stepping  daily  onward  north 
To  greet  staid  ancient  cavaliers 
Filing  single  in  stately  train. 
And  who,  and  who  are  the  travellers  ? 
They  were  Night  and  Day,  and  Day  and  Night, 
Pilgrims  wight  with  step  forthright. 
I  saw  the  Days  deformed  and  low, 
Short  and  bent  by  cold  and  snow  ; 
The  merry  Spring  threw  wreaths  on  them, 
Flower-wreaths  gay  with  bud  and  bell  ; 
Many  a  flower  and  many  a  gem, 
They  were  refreshed  by  the  smell, 
They  shook  the  snow  from  hats  and  shoon, 
They  put  their  April  raiment  on ; 
And  those  eternal  forms, 


MAY-DAY. 


Unhurt  by  a  thousand  storms, 

Shot  up  to  the  height  of  the  sky  again5 

And  danced  as  merrily  as  young  men. 

I  saw  them  mask  their  awful  glance 

Sidewise  meek  in  gossamer  lids  ; 

And  to  speak  my  thought  if  none  forbids. 

It  was  as  if  the  eternal  gods, 

Tired  of  their  starry  periods, 

Hid  their  majesty  in  cloth 

Woven  of  tulips  and  painted  moth. 

On  carpets  green  the  maskers  march 

Below  May's  well-appointed  arch, 

Each  star,  each  god,  each  grace  amain, 

Every  joy  and  virtue  speed, 

Marching  duly  in  her  tram, 

And  fainting  Nature  at  her  need 

Is  made  whole  again. 

'T  was  the  vintage-day  of  field  and  wood, 
When  magic  wine  for  bards  is  brewed  ; 
Every  tree  and  stem  and  chink 
Gushed  with  syrup  to  the  brink. 
The  air  stole  into  the  streets  of  towns, 
Refreshed  the  wise,  reformed  the  clowns, 
And  betrayed  the  fund  of  joy 
To  the  high-school  and  medalled  boy  : 
On  from  hall  to  chamber  ran, 
From  youth  to  maid,  from  boy  to  man, 
To  babes,  and  to  old  eyes  as  well. 
6  Once  more,'  the  old  man  cried,  £  ye  clouds, 
Airy  turrets  purple-piled, 
Which  once  my  infancy  beguiled, 
Beguile  me  with  the  wonted  spelL 
12 


MAY-DAY. 


I  know  ye  skilful  to  convoy 

The  total  freight  of  hope  and  joy 

Into  rucle  and  homely  nooks, 

Shed  mocking  lustres  on  shelf  of  books. 

On  farmer's  byre,  on  pasture  rude, 

And  stony  pathway  to  the  wood. 

I  care  not  if  the  pomps  you  show 

Be  what  they  soothfast  appear, 

Or  if  yon  realms  in  sunset  glow 

Be  bubbles  of  the  atmosphere. 

And  if  it  be  to  you  allowed 

To  fool  me  with  a  shining  cloud, 

So  only  new  griefs  are  consoled 

By  new  delights,  as  old  by  old, 

Frankly  I  will  be  your  guest, 

Count  your  change  and  cheer  the  best, 

The  world  hath  overmuch  of  pain,  — 

If  Nature  give  me  joy  again, 

Of  such  deceit  I  '11  not  complain.' 

Ah  !  well  I  mind  the  calendar, 
Faithful  through  a  thousand  years, 
Of  the  painted  race  of  flowers, 
Exact  to  days,  exact  to  hours, 
Counted  on  the  spacious  dial 
Yon  broidered  zodiac  girds. 
I  know  the  trusty  almanac 
Of  the  punctual  coming-back, 
On  their  due  days,  of  the  birds. 
I  marked  them  yestermorn, 
A  flock  of  finches  darting 
Beneath  the  crystal  arch, 
Piping,  as  they  flew,  a  march,  — 


MAY-DAY. 


Belike  the  one  they  used  in  parting 

Last  year  from  yon  oak  or  larch  ; 

Dusky  sparrows  in  a  crowd, 

Diving,  darting  northward  free, 

Suddenly  betook  them  all, 

Every  one  to  his  hole  in  the  wall, 

Or  to  his  niche  in  the  apple-tree. 

1  greet  with  joy  the  choral  trains 

Fresh  from  palms  and  Cuba's  canes. 

Best  gems  of  Nature's  cabinet, 

With  dews  of  tropic  morning  wet, 

Beloved  of  children,  bards  and  Spring, 

O  birds,  your  perfect  virtues  bring, 

Your  song,  your  forms,  your  rhythmic  flight 

Your  manners  for  the  heart's  delight, 

Nestle  in  hedge,  or  barn,  or  roof, 

Here  weave  your  chamber  weather-proof, 

Forgive  our  harms,  and  condescend 

To  man,  as  to  a  lubber  friend, 

And,  generous,  teach  his  awkward  race 

Courage  and  probity  and  grace  ! 

Poets  praise  that  hidden  wine 
Hid  in  milk  we  drew 
At  the  barrier  of  Time, 
When  our  life  was  new. 
We  had  eaten  fairy  fruit, 
We  were  quick  from  head  to  foot, 
All  the  forms  we  looked  on  shone 
As  with  diamond  dews  thereon. 
What  cared  we  for  costly  joys, 
The  Museum's  far-fetched  toys  ? 
Gleam  of  sunshine  on  the  wall 


MAY-DAY. 


Poured  a  deeper  cheer  than  all 

The  revels  of  the  Carnival. 

We  a  pine-grove  did  prefer 

To  a  marble  theatre, 

Could  with  gods  on  mallows  dine, 

Nor  cared  for  spices  or  for  wine. 

Wreaths  of  mist  and  rainbow  spanned, 

Arch  on  arch,  the  grimmest  land  ; 

Whistle  of  a  woodland  bird 

Made  the  pulses  dance, 

Note  of  horn  in  valleys  heard 

Filled  the  region  with  romance. 

None  can  tell  how  sweet, 
How  virtuous,  the  morning  air  ; 
Every  accent  vibrates  well ; 
Not  alone  the  wood-bird's  call, 
Or  shouting  boys  that  chase  their  ball, 
Pass  the  height  of  minstrel  skill, 
But  the  ploughman's  thoughtless  cry, 
Lowing  oxen,  sheep  that  bleat, 
And  the  joiner's  hammer-beat, 
Softened  are  above  their  will, 
Take  tones  from  groves  they  wandered  through 
Or  flutes  which  passing  angels  blew. 
All  grating  discords  melt, 
No  dissonant  note  is  dealt, 
And  though  thy  voice  be  shrill 
Like  rasping  file  on  steel, 
Such  is  the  temper  of  the  air, 
Echo  waits  with  art  and  care, 
And  will  the  faults  of  song  repair. 


MAY-DAY. 


So  by  remote  Superior  Lake, 
And  by  resounding  Mackinac, 
When  northern  storms  the  forest  shake, 
And  billows  on  the  long  beach  break, 
The  artful  Air  will  separate 
Note  by  note  all  sounds  that  grate, 
Smothering  in  her  ample  breast 
All  but  godlike  words, 
Reporting  to  the  happy  ear 
Only  purified  accords. 
Strangely  wrought  from  barking  waves, 
Soft  music  daunts  the  Indian  braves,  — 
Convent-chanting  which  the  child 
Hears  pealing  from  the  panther's  cave 
And  the  impenetrable  wild. 

Soft  on  the  south-wind  sleeps  the  haze 
So  on  thy  broad  mystic  van 
Lie  the  opal-colored  days, 
And  waft  the  miracle  to  man. 
Soothsayer  of  the  eldest  gods, 
Repairer  of  what  harms  betide, 
Revealer  of  the  inmost  powers 
Prometheus  proffered,  Jove  denied  ; 
Disclosing  treasures  more  than  true, 
Or  in  what  far  to-morrow  due  ; 
Speaking  by  the  tongues  of  flowers, 
By  the  ten-tongued  laurel  speaking, 
Singing  by  the  oriole  songs, 
Heart  of  bird  the  man's  heart  seeking  ; 
Whispering  hints  of  treasure  hid 
Under  Morn's  unlifted  lid, 
Islands  looming  just  beyond 


182 


MAY-DAY. 


The  dim  horizoirs  utmost  bound  ;  — 
Who  can.  like  thee,  our  rags  upbraid, 
Or  taunt  us  with  our  hope  decayed  ? 
Or  who  like  thee  persuade, 
Making  the  splendor  of  the  air, 
The  morn  and  sparkling  dew,  a  snare  ? 
Or  who  resent 

Thy  genius,  wiles  and  blandishment  ? 

There  is  no  orator  prevails 
To  beckon  or  persuade 
Like  thee  the  youth  or  maid  : 
Thy  birds,  thy  songs,  thy  brooks,  thy  gales, 
Thy  blooms,  thy  kinds, 
Thy  echoes  in  the  wilderness, 
Soothe  pain,  and  age,  and  love's  distress, 
Fire  fainting  will,  and  build  heroic  minds. 

For  thou,  0  Spring  !  canst  renovate 
All  that  high  God  did  first  create. 
Be  still  his  arm  and  architect, 
Rebuild  the  ruin,  mend  defect  , 
Chemist  to  vamp  old  worlds  with  new, 
Coat  sea  and  sky  with  heavenlier  blue, 
Xew  tint  the  plumage  of  the  birds, 
And  slough  decay  from  grazing  herds, 
Sweep  ruins  from  the  scarped  mountain, 
Cleanse  the  torrent  at  the  fountain, 
Purge  alpine  air  by  towns  detiled, 
Bring  to  fair  mother  fairer  child, 
Xot  less  renew  the  heart  and  brain, 
Scatter  the  sloth,  wash  out  the  stain, 
Make  the  aged  eye  sun-clear, 


MAY-DAY. 


183 


To  parting  soul  bring  grandeur  near0 

Under  gentle  types,  my  Spring 

Masks  the  might  of  Nature's  king, 

An  energy  that  searches  thorough 

From  Chaos  to  the  dawning  morrow  § 

Into  all  our  human  plight, 

The  soul's  pilgrimage  and  flight ; 

In  city  or  in  solitude, 

Step  by  step,  lifts  bad  to  good, 

Without  halting,  without  rest, 

Lifting  Better  up  to  Best ; 

Planting  seeds  of  knowledge  pure, 

Through  earth  to  ripen,  through  heaven  endure. 


THE  ADIROXDACS. 


A  JOURNAL. 

DEDICATED  TO  MY  FEIXOW-TRAVELLEES  IN  AUGUST,  1858. 

Wise  and  polite,  —  and  if  I  drew 
Their  several  portraits,  you  would  own 
Chaucer  had  no  such  worthy  crew, 
Nor  Boccace  in  Decameron. 

We  crossed  Champlain  to  Keeseville  with  our  friends, 
Thence,  in  strong  country  carts,  rode  up  the  forks 
Of  the  Ausable  stream,  intent  to  reach 
The  Adirondac  lakes.    At  Martin's  Beach 
We  chose  onr  boats  ;  each  man  a  boat  and  guide,  — 
Ten  men,  ten  guides,  our  company  all  told. 

Next  morn,  we  swept  with  oars  the  Saranac, 
With  skies  of  benediction,  to  Round  Lake, 
Where  all  the  sacred  mountains  drew  around  us, 
Tahawus,  Seaward,  Maclutyre,  Baldhead, 
And  other  Titans  without  muse  or  name. 
Pleased  with  these  grand  companions,  we  glide  on, 
Instead  of  flowers,  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  hills. 
We  made  our  distance  wider,  boat  from  boat, 
As  each  would  hear  the  oracle  alone. 
By  the  bright  morn  the  gay  flotilla  slid 
Through  files  of  flags  that  gleamed  like  bayonets, 
Through  gold-moth-haunted  beds  of  pickerel-flower, 
Through  scented  banks  of  lilies  white  and  gold, 
WThere  the  deer  feeds  at  night,  the  teal  by  day, 
(184) 


THE  ADIRONDACS. 


185 


On  through  the  Upper  Saranac,  and  up 
Pere  Raquette  stream,  to  a  small  tortuous  pass 
Winding  through  grassy  shallows  in  and  out, 
Two  creeping  miles  of  rushes,  pads  and  sponge, 
To  Follansbee  Water  and  the  Lake  of  Loons. 

Northward  the  length  of  Follausbee  we  rowed, 
Under  low  mountains,  whose  unbroken  ridge 
Ponderous  with  beechen  forest  sloped  the  shore. 
A  pause  and  council  :  then,  where  near  the  head 
Due  east  a  bay  makes  inward  to  the  land 
Between  two  rocky  arms,  we  climb  the  bank, 
And  in  the  twilight  of  the  forest  noon 
Wield  the  first  axe  these  echoes  ever  heard. 
We  cut  young  trees  to  make  our  poles  and  thwarts, 
Barked  the  white  spruce  to  weatherfend  the  roof, 
Then  struck  a  light  and  kindled  the  camp-fire. 

The  wood  was  sovran  with  centennial  trees,  — 
Oak,  cedar,  maple,  poplar,  beech  and  fir, 
Linden  and  spruce.    In  strict  society 
Three  conifers,  white,  pitch  and  Norway  pine, 
Five-leaved,  three-leaved  and  two-leaved,  grew  thereby. 
Our  patron  pine  was  fifteen  feet  in  girth, 
The  maple  eight,  beneath  its  shapely  tower. 

'  Welcome  ! '  the  wood-god  murmured  through  the 
leaves,  — 

(  Welcome,  though  late,  unknowing,  yet  known  to  me.5 
Evening  drew  on  ;  stars  peeped  through  maple-boughs, 
Which  o'erhung,  like  a  cloud,  our  camping  fire. 
Decayed  millennial  trunks,  like  moonlight  flecks, 
Lit  with  phosphoric  crumbs  the  forest  floor. 


186 


THE  ADIRONDACS. 


Ten  scholars,  wonted  to  lie  warm  and  soft 
In  well-hung  chambers  daintily  bestowed, 
Lie  here  on  hemlock-boughs,  like  Sacs  and  Sioux, 
And  greet  unanimous  the  joyful  change. 
So  fast  will  Nature  acclimate  her  sons, 
Though  late  returning  to  her  pristine  ways. 
Off  soundings,  seamen  do  not  suffer  cold  ; 
And,  in  the  forest,  delicate  clerks,  unbrowned, 
Sleep  on  the  fragrant  brush,  as  on  down-beds. 
Up  with  the  dawn,  they  fancied  the  light  air 
That  circled  freshly  in  their  forest  dress 
Made  them  to  boys  again.    Happier  that  they 
Slipped  off  their  pack  of  duties,  leagues  behind, 
At  the  first  mounting  of  the  giant  stairs. 
No  placard  on  these  rocks  warned  to  the  polls, 
No  door-bell  heralded  a  visitor, 
No  courier  waits,  no  letter  came  or  went, 
Nothing  was  ploughed,  or  reaped,  or  bought,  or  sold  ; 
The  frost  might  glitter,  it  would  blight  no  crop, 
The  falling  rain  will  spoil  no  holiday. 
We  were  made  freemen  of  the  forest  laws, 
All  dressed,  like  Nature,  fit  for  her  own  ends, 
Essaying  nothing  she  cannot  perform. 

In  Adirondac  lakes, 
At  morn  or  noon,  the  guide  rows  bareheaded  : 
Shoes,  flannel  shirt,  and  kersey  trousers  make 
His  brief  toilette  :  at  night,  or  in  the  rain, 
He  dons  a  surcoat  which  he  doffs  at  morn  : 
A  paddle  in  the  right  hand,  or  an  oar, 
And  in  the  left,  a  gun,  his  needful  arms. 
By  turns  we  praised  the  stature  of  our  guides, 
Their  rival  strength  and  suppleness,  their  skill 


THE  ADIRONDACS. 


187 


To  row,  to  swim,  to  shoot,  to  build  a  camp, 

To  climb  a  lofty  stem,  clean  without  boughs 

Full  fifty  feet,  and  bring  the  eaglet  down  : 

Temper  to  face  wolf,  bear,  or  catamount, 

And  wit  to  trap  or  take  him  in  his  lair. 

Sound,  ruddy  men,  frolic  and  innocent, 

In  winter,  lumberers  ;  in  summer,  guides  ; 

Their  sinewy  arms  pull  at  the  oar  untired 

Three  times  ten  thousand  strokes,  from  morn  to  eve. 

Look  to  yourselves,  ye  polished  gentlemen  ! 
No  city  airs  or  arts  pass  current  here. 
Your  rank  is  all  reversed  ;  let  men  of  cloth 
Bow  to  the  stalwart  churls  in  overalls  : 
They  are  the  doctors  of  the  wilderness, 
And  we  the  low-prized  laymen. 
In  sooth,  red  flannel  is  a  saucy  test 
Which  few  can  put  on  with  impunity. 
What  make  you,  master,  fumbling  at  the  oar  ? 
Will  you  catch  crabs  ?    Truth  tries  pretension  here. 
The  sallow  knows  the  basket-maker's  thumb  ; 
The  oar,  the  guide's.    Dare  you  accept  the  tasks 
He  shall  impose,  to  find  a  spring,  trap  foxes, 
Tell  the  sun's  time,  determine  the  true  north, 
Or  stumbling  on  through  vast  self-similar  woods 
To  thread  by  night  the  nearest  way  to  camp  ? 

Ask  you,  how  went  the  hours  ? 
All  day  we  swept  the  lake,  searched  every  cove, 
North  from  Camp  Maple,  south  to  Osprey  Bay, 
Watching  when  the  loud  dogs  should  drive  in  deer, 
Or  whipping  its  rough  surface  for  a  trout ; 
Or,  bathers,  diving  from  the  rock  at  noon  ; 


188 


THE  ADIRONDACS. 


Challenging  Echo  by  our  guns  and  cries  ; 
Or  listening  to  the  laughter  of  the  loon  ; 
Or,  in  the  evening  twilight's  latest  red, 
Beholding  the  procession  of  the  pines  ; 
Or,  later  yet,  beneath  a  lighted  jack, 
In  the  boat's  bows,  a  silent  night-hunter 
Stealing  with  paddle  to  the  feeding-grounds 
Of  the  red  deer,  to  aim  at  a  square  mist. 
Hark  to  the  muffled  roar  !  a  tree  in  the  woods 
Is  fallen  :  but  hush  !  it  has  not  scared  the  buck 
Who  stands  astonished  at  the  meteor  light, 
Then  turns  to  bound  away,  —  is  it  too  late  ? 

Our  heroes  tried  their  rifles  at  a  mark, 
Six  rods,  sixteen,  twenty,  or  forty-five  ; 
Sometimes  their  wits  at  sally  and  retort, 
With  laughter  sudden  as  the  crack  of  rifle  ; 
Or  parties  scaled  the  near  acclivities 
Competing  seekers  of  a  rumored  lake, 
Whose  unauthenticated  waves  we  named 
Lake  Probability,  —  our  carbuncle, 
Long  sought,  not  found. 

Two  Doctors  in  the  camp 
Dissected  the  slain  deer,  weighed  the  trout's  brain, 
Captured  the  lizard,  salamander,  shrew, 
Crab,  mice,  snail,  dragon-fly,  minnow  and  moth  ; 
Insatiate  skill  in  water  or  in  air 
Waved  the  scoop-net,  and  nothing  came  amiss  ; 
The  while,  one  leaden  pot  of  alcohol 
Gave  an  impartial  tomb  to  all  the  kinds. 
Not  less  the  ambitious  botanist  sought  plants, 
Orchis  and  gentian,  fern  and  long  whip-scirpus, 


THE  ADIRONDACS. 


189 


Rosy  polygonum,  lake-margin's  pride, 

Hyp i mi n  and  hydnum,  mushroom,  sponge  and  moss, 

Or  harebell  nodding  in  the  gorge  of  falls. 

Above,  the  eagle  flew,  the  osprey  screamed, 

The  raven  croaked,  owls  hooted,  the  woodpecker 

Loud  hammered,  and  the  heron  rose  in  the  swamp. 

As  water  poured  through  hollows  of  the  hills 

To  feed  this  wealth  of  lakes  and  rivulets, 

So  Nature  shed  all  beauty  lavishly 

From  her  redundant  horn. 

Lords  of  this  realm, 
Bounded  by  dawn  and  sunset,  and  the  day 
Rounded  by  hours  where  each  outdid  the  last 
In  miracles  of  pomp,  we  must  be  proud, 
As  if  associates  of  the  sylvan  gods. 
We  seemed  the  dwellers  of  the  zodiac, 
So  pure  the  Alpine  element  we  breathed, 
So  light,  so  lofty  pictures  came  and  went. 
We  trode  on  air,  contemned  the  distant  town, 
Its  timorous  ways,  big  trifles,  and  we  planned 
That  we  should  build,  hard-by,  a  spacious  lodge, 
And  how  we  should  come  hither  with  our  sons, 
Hereafter,  —  willing  they,  and  more  adroit. 

Hard  fare,  hard  bed  and  comic  misery,  — 
The  midge,  the  blue-fly  and  the  mosquito 
Painted  our  necks,  hands,  ankles,  with  red  bands  s 
But,  on  the  second  day,  we  heed  them  not, 
Nay,  we  saluted  them  Auxiliaries, 
Whom  earlier  we  had  chid  with  spiteful  names. 
For  who  defends  our  leafy  tabernacle 
From  bold  intrusion  of  the  travelling  crowd,  — 


190 


THE  ADIRONDACK 


Who  but  the  midge,  mosquito  and  the  fly, 
Which  past  endurance  sting  the  tender  cit, 
But  which  we  learn  to  scatter  with  a  smudge, 
Or  baffle  by  a  veil,  or  slight  by  scorn  ? 

Our  foaming  ale  we  drank  from  hunters'  pans, 
Ale,  and  a  sup  of  wine.    Our  steward  gave 
Venison  and  trout,  potatoes,  beans,  wheat-bread  ; 

All  ate  like  abbots,  and,  if  any  missed 
Their  wonted  convenance,  cheerly  hid  the  loss 
With  hunters'  appetite  and  peals  of  mirth. 
And  Stillman,  our  guides'  guide,  and  Commodore, 
Crusoe,  Crusader,  Pius  iEneas,  said  aloud, 
"  Chronic  dyspepsia  never  came  from  eating 
Food  indigestible  "  :  —  then  murmured  some, 
Others  applauded  him  who  spoke  the  truth. 

Nor  doubt  but  visitings  of  graver  thought 
Checked  in  these  souls  the  turbulent  heyday 
'Mid  all  the  hints  and  glories  of  the  home. 
For  who  can  tell  what  sudden  privacies 
Were  sought  and  found,  amid  the  hue  and  cry 
Of  scholars  furloughed  from  their  tasks  and  let 
Into  this  Oreads'  fended  Paradise, 
As  chapels  in  the  city's  thoroughfares, 
Whither  gaunt  Labor  slips  to  wipe  his  brow 
And  meditate  a  moment  on  Heaven's  rest. 
Judge  with  what  sweet  surprises  Nature  spoke 
To  each  apart,  lifting  her  lovely  shows 
To  spiritual  lessons  pointed  home, 
And  as  through  dreams  in  watches  of  the  night, 
So  through  all  creatures  in  their  form  and  ways 
Some  mystic  hint  accosts  the  vigilant, 


THE  ADIRONDACS. 


191 


Not  clearly  voiced,  but  waking  a  new  sense 

Inviting1  to  new  knowledge,  one  with  old. 

Hark  to  that  petulant  chirp  !  what  ails  the  warbler  ? 

Mark  his  capricious  ways  to  draw  the  eye. 

Now  soar  again.    What  wilt  thou,  restless  bird, 

Seeking  in  that  chaste  b]ue  a  bluer  light, 

Thirsting  in  that  pure  for  a  purer  sky  ? 

And  presently  the  sky  is  changed  ;  O  world  ! 
What  pictures  and  what  harmonies  are  thine  ! 
The  clouds  are  rich  and  dark,  the  air  serene, 
So  like  the  soul  of  me,  what  if 't  were  me  ? 
A  melancholy  better  than  all  mirth. 
Comes  the  sweet  sadness  of  the  retrospect, 
Or  at  the  foresight  of  obscurer  years  ? 
Like  yon  slow-sailing  cloudy  promontory. 
Whereon  the  purple  iris  dwells  in  beauty 
Superior  to  all  its  gaudy  skirts. 
And,  that  no  day  of  life  may  lack  romance, 
The  spiritual  stars  rise  nightly,  shedding  down 
A  private  beam  into  each  several  heart. 
Daily  the  bending  skies  solicit  man, 
The  seasons  chariot  him  from  this  exile, 
The  rainbow  hours  bedeck  his  glowing  chair, 
The  storm-winds  urge  the  heavy  weeks  along, 
Suns  haste  to  set,  that  so  remoter  lights 
Beckon  the  wanderer  to  his  vaster  home. 

With  a  vermilion  pencil  mark  the  day 
When  of  our  little  fleet  three  cruising  skiffs 
Entering  Big  Tupper,  bound  for  the  foaming  Falls 
Of  loud  Bog  River,  suddenly  confront 
Two  of  our  mates  returning  with  swift  oars. 


192 


THE  ADIRONDACS. 


One  held  a  printed  journal  waving  high 

Caught  from  a  late-arriving  traveller, 

Big  with  great  news,  and  shouted  the  report 

For  which  the  world  had  waited,  now  firm  fact, 

Of  the  wire-cable  laid  beneath  the  sea, 

And  landed  on  our  coast,  and  pulsating 

With  ductile  fire.    Loud,  exulting  cries, 

From  boat  to  boat,  and  to  the  echoes  round, 

Greet  the  glad  miracle.    Thought's  new-found  path 

Shall  supplement  henceforth  all  trodden  ways, 

Match  God's  equator  with  a  zone  of  art, 

And  lift  man's  public  action  to  a  height 

Worthy  the  enormous  cloud  of  witnesses, 

When  linked  hemispheres  attest  his  deed. 

We  have  few  moments  in  the  longest  life 

Of  such  delight  and  wonder  as  there  grew,  — 

Nor  yet  unsuited  to  that  solitude  : 

A  burst  of  joy,  as  if  we  told  the  fact 

To  ears  intelligent  ;  as  if  gray  rock 

And  cedar  grove  and  cliff  and  lake  should  know 

This  feat  of  wit,  this  triumph  of  mankind  ; 

As  if  we  men  were  talking  in  a  vein 

Of  sympathy  so  large,  that  ours  was  theirs, 

And  a  prime  end  of  the  most  subtle  element 

Were  fairly  reached  at  last.    Wake,  echoing  caves  ? 

Bend  nearer,  faint  day-moon  !    Yon  thundertops? 

Let  them  hear  well !  't  is  theirs  as  much  as  ours. 

A  spasm  throbbing  through  the  pedestals 
Of  Alp  and  Andes,  isle  and  continent, 
Urging  astonished  Chaos  with  a  thrill 
To  be  a  brain,  or  serve  the  brain  of  man. 
The  lightning  has  run  masterless  too  long  ; 


THE  ADIRONDACS. 


193 


He  must  to  school  and  learn  his  verb  and  noun 
And  teach  his  nimbleness  to  earn  his  wage, 
Spelling  with  guided  tongue  man's  messages 
Shot  through  the  weltering  pit  of  the  salt  sea. 
And  yet  I  marked,  even  in  the  manly  joy 
Of  our  great-hearted  Doctor  in  his  boat 
(Perchance  I  erred),  a  shade  of  discontent ; 
Or  was  it  for  mankind  a  generous  shame, 
As  of  a  luck  not  quite  legitimate, 
Since  fortune  snatched  from  wit  the  lion's  part  ? 
Was  it  a  college  pique  of  town  and  gown, 
As  one  within  whose  memory  it  burned 
That  not  academicians,  but  some  lout, 
Found  ten  years  since  the  Calif orniau  gold  ? 
And  now,  again,  a  hungry  company 
Of  traders,  led  by  corporate  sons  of  trade, 
Perversely  borrowing  from  the  shop  the  tools 
Of  science,  not  from  the  philosophers, 
Had  won  the  brightest  laurel  of  all  time. 
'T  was  always  thus,  and  will  be  ;  hand  and  head 
Are  ever  rivals  :  but,  though  this  be  swift, 
The  other  slow,  —  this  the  Prometheus, 
And  that  the  J ove,  —  yet,  howsoever  hid, 
It  was  from  Jove  the  other  stole  his  fire, 
And,  without  Jove,  the  good  had  never  been. 
It  is  not  Iroquois  or  cannibals, 
But  ever  the  free  race  with  front  sublime, 
And  these  instructed  by  their  wisest  too, 
Who  do  the  feat,  and  lift  humanity. 
Let  not  him  mourn  who  best  entitled  was, 
Nay,  mourn  not  one  :  let  him  exult, 
Yea,  plant  the  tree  that  bears  best  apples,  plant, 
13 


194 


TEE  ADIRONDACS. 


And  water  it  with  wine,  nor  watch  askance 
Whether  thy  sons  or  strangers  eat  the  fruit : 
Enough  that  mankind  eat  and  are  refreshed. 

We  flee  away  from  cities,  but  we  bring 
The  best  of  cities  with  us,  these  learned  classifiers, 
Men  knowing  what  they  seek,  armed  eyes  of  experts. 
We  praise  the  guide,  we  praise  the  forest  life : 
But  will  we  sacrifice  our  dear-bought  lore 
Of  books  and  arts  and  trained  experiment, 
Or  count  the  Sioux  a  match  for  Agassiz  ? 
O  no,  not  we  !    Witness  the  shout  that  shook 
Wild  Tupper  Lake  ;  witness  the  mute  all-hail 
The  joyful  traveller  gives,  when  on  the  verge 
Of  craggy  Indian  wilderness  he  hears 
From  a  log-cabin  stream  Beethoven's  notes 
On  the  piano,  played  with  master's  hand. 
4  Well  done  1 '  he  cries  ;  '  the  bear  is  kept  at  bay? 
The  lynx,  the  rattlesnake,  the  flood,  the  fire  ; 
All  the  fierce  enemies,  ague,  hunger,  cold, 
This  thin  spruce  roof,  this  clayed  log-wall, 
This  wild  plantation  will  suffice  to  chase. 
Now  speed  the  gay  celerities  of  art, 
What  in  the  desert  was  impossible 
Within  four  walls  is  possible  again,  — 
Culture  and  libraries,  mysteries  of  skill, 
Traditioned  fame  of  masters,  eager  strife 
Of  keen  competing  youths,  joined  or  alone 
To  outdo  each  other  and  extort  applause. 
Mind  wakes  a  new-born  giant  from  her  sleep. 
Twirl  the  old  wheels  !  Time  takes  fresh  start  again, 
On  for  a  thousand  years  of  genius  more.' 


THE  ADIRONDACS. 


The  holidays  were  fruitful,  but  must  end  ; 
One  August  evening  had  a  cooler  breath  ; 
Into  each  mind  intruding  duties  crept ; 
Under  the  cinders  burned  the  fires  at  home  ; 
Nay,  letters  found  us  in  our  paradise  : 
So  in  the  gladness  of  the  new  event 
We  struck  our  camp  and  left  the  happy  hills. 
The  fortunate  star  that  rose  on  us  sank  not ; 
The  prodigal  sunshine  rested  on  the  land, 
The  rivers  gambolled  onward  to  the  sea, 
And  Nature,  the  inscrutable  and  mute, 
Permitted  on  her  infinite  repose 
Almost  a  smile  to  steal  to  cheer  her  sons, 
As  if  one  riddle  of  the  Sphinx  were  guessed. 


BRAHMA. 


If  the  red  slayer  think  he  slays, 
Or  if  the  slain  think  he  is  slain, 

They  know  not  well  the  subtle  ways 
I  keep,  and  pass,  and  turn  again. 

Far  or  forgot  to  me  is  near  ; 

Shadow  and  sunlight  are  the  same  ; 
The  vanished  gods  to  me  appear  ; 

And  one  to  me  are  shame  and  fame. 

They  reckon  ill  who  leave  me  out ; 

When  me  they  fly,  I  am  the  wings  ; 
I  am  the  doubter  and  the  doubt, 

And  I  the  hymn  the  Brahmin  sings. 

The  strong  gods  pine  for  my  abode, 
And  pine  in  vain  the  sacred  Seven  ; 

But  thou,  meek  lover  of  the  good  ! 

Find  me,  and  turn  thy  back  on  heaven. 
(1W 


FATE. 


Deep  in  the  man  sits  fast  his  fate 

To  mould  his  fortunes  mean  or  great : 

Unknown  to  Cromwell  as  to  me 

Was  Cromwell's  measure  or  degree  ; 

Unknown  to  him  as  to  his  horse, 

If  he  than  his  groom  be  better  or  worse. 

He  works,  plots,  fights,  in  rude  affairs, 

With  squires,  lords,  kings,  his  craft  compares, 

Till  late  he  learned,  through  doubt  and  fear, 

Broad  England  harbored  not  his  peer  : 

Obeying  Time,  the  last  to  own 

The  Genius  from  its  cloudy  throne. 

For  the  prevision  is  allied 

Unto  the  thing  so  signified  ; 

Or  say,  the  foresight  that  awaits 

Is  the  same  Genius  that  creates. 

Q97) 


FKEEDOM. 

Once  I  wished  I  might  rehearse 
Freedom's  paean  in  my  verse, 
That  the  slave  who  caught  the  strain 
Should  throb  until  he  snapped  his  chain. 
But  the  Spirit  said,  6  Not  so  ; 
Speak  it  not,  or  speak  it  low  ; 
Name  not  lightly  to  be  said, 
Gift  too  precious  to  be  prayed, 
Passion  not  to  be  expressed 
But  by  heaving  of  the  breast : 
Yet,  —  wouldst  thou  the  mountain  find 
Where  this  deity  is  shrined, 
Who  gives  to  seas  and  sunset  skies 
Their  unspent  beauty  of  surprise, 
And,  when  it  lists  him,  waken  can 
Brute  or  savage  into  man  ; 
Or,  if  in  thy  heart  he  shine, 
Blends  the  starry  fates  with  thine, 
Draws  angels  nigh  to  dwell  with  thee, 
And  makes  thy  thoughts  archangels  be  ; 
Freedom's  secret  wilt  thou  know  ?  — 
Counsel  not  with  flesh  and  blood  ; 
Loiter  not  for  cloak  or  food  ; 
Right  thou  feelest,  rush  to  do/ 
(198) 


ODE. 


SUNG  IN  THE  TOWN  HALL,  CONCORD,  JULY  4,  185?. 

O  tenderly  the  haughty  day 

Fills  his  blue  urn  with  fire  ; 
One  morn  is  in  the  mighty  heaven, 

And  one  in  our  desire. 

The  cannon  booms  from  town  to  town, 

Our  pulses  beat  not  less, 
The  joy-bells  chime  their  tidings  down, 

Whidn  children's  voices  bless. 

For  He  that  flung  the  broad  blue  fold 

O'er-mantling  land  and  sea, 
One  third  part  of  the  sky  unrolled 

For  the  banner  of  the  free. 

The  men  are  ripe  of  Saxon  kind 

To  build  an  equal  state,  — 
To  take  the  statute  from  the  mind 

And  make  of  duty  fate. 

United  States  !  the  ages  plead,  — 
Present  and  Past  in  under-song,  — 

Go  put  your  creed  into  your  deed, 
Nor  speak  with  double  tongue. 

For  sea  and  land  don't  understand, 
"Nor  skies  without  a  frown 
(199) 


200 


ODE. 


See  rights  for  which  the  one  hand  fights 
By  the  other  cloven  down. 

Be  just  at  home  ;  then  write  your  scroll 

Of  honor  o'er  the  sea, 
And  bid  the  broad  Atlantic  roll, 

A  ferry  of  the  free. 

And  henceforth  there  shall  be  no  chain, 

Save  underneath  the  sea 
The  wires  shall  murmur  through  the  main 

Sweet  songs  of  liberty. 

The  conscious  stars  accord  above, 
The  waters  wild  below,  % 

And  under,  through  the  cable  wove, 
Her  fiery  errands  go. 

For  He  that  worketh  high  and  wise, 

Nor  pauses  in  his  plan, 
Will  take  the  sun  out  of  the  skies 

Ere  freedom  out  of  man. 


BOSTON  HYMN. 


READ  IN  MUSIC  HALL,  JANUARY  1,  1863. 

The  word  of  the  Lord  by  night 
To  the  watching  Pilgrims  came, 
As  they  sat  by  the  seaside, 
And  filled  their  hearts  with  flame. 

God  said,  I  am  tired  of  kings, 
I  suffer  them  no  more  ; 
Up  to  my  ear  the  morning  brings 
The  outrage  of  the  poor. 

Think  ye  I  made  this  ball 

A  field  of  havoc  and  war, 

Where  tyrants  great  and  tyrants  small 

Might  harry  the  weak  and  poor  ? 

My  angel,  —  his  name  is  Freedom,  — 
Choose  him  to  be  your  king  ; 
He  shall  cut  pathways  east  and  west 
And  fend  you  with  his  wing. 

Lo  !  I  uncover  the  land 
Which  I  hid  of  old  time  in  the  West, 
As  the  sculptor  uncovers  the  statue 
When  he  has  wrought  his  best ; 

I  show  Columbia,  of  the  rocks 
Which  dip  their  foot  in  the  seas 
(201) 


BOSTON  HYMN. 


And  soar  to  the  air-borne  flocks 
Of  clouds  and  the  boreal  fleece. 

I  will  divide  my  goods  ; 
Call  in  the  wretch  and  slave  : 
None  shall  rule  but  the  humble, 
And  none  but  Toil  shall  have. 

I  will  have  never  a  noble, 
No  lineage  counted  great  ; 
Fishers  and  choppers  and  ploughmen 
Shall  constitute  a  state. 

Go,  cut  down  trees  in  the  forest 
And  trim  the  straightest  boughs  ; 
Cut  down  trees  in  the  forest 
And  build  me  a  wooden  house. 

Call  the  people  together, 
The  young  men  and  the  sires, 
The  digger  in  the  harvest  field, 
Hireling  and  him  that  hires  ; 

And  here  in  a  pine  state-house 
They  shall  choose  men  to  rule 
In  every  needful  faculty, 
In  church  and  state  and  school. 

Lo,  now  !  if  these  poor  men 
Can  govern  the  land  and  sea 
And  make  just  laws  below  the  sun, 
As  planets  faithful  be. 


BOSTON  HYMN. 


And  ye  shall  succor  men  ; 

'T  is  nobleness  to  serve  ; 

Help  them  who  cannot  help  again  : 

Beware  from  right  to  swerve. 

I  break  your  bonds  and  masterships, 
And  I  unchain  the  slave  : 
Free  be  his  heart  and  hand  henceforth 
As  wind  and  wandering  wave. 

I  cause  from  every  creature 
His  proper  good  to  flow  : 
As  much  as  he  is  and  doeth, 
So  much  he  shall  bestow. 

But,  laying  hands  on  another 
To  coin  his  labor  and  sweat, 
He  goes  in  pawn  to  his  victim 
For  eternal  years  in  debt. 

To-day  unbind  the  captive, 
So  only  are  ye  unbound ; 
Lift  up  a  people  from  the  dust, 
Trump  of  their  rescue,  sound  ! 

Pay  ransom  to  the  owner 

And  fill  the  bag  to  the  brim. 

Who  is  the  owner  ?    The  slave  is  owner, 

And  ever  was.    Pay  him. 

O  North  !  give  him  beauty  for  rags, 
And  honor,  O  South  !  for  his  shame  ; 


BOSTON  HYMN. 


Nevada  !  coin  thy  golden  crags 
With  Freedom's  image  and  name. 

Up  !  and  the  dusky  race 
That  sat  in  darkness  long,  — 
Be  swift  their  feet  as  antelopes, 
And  as  behemoth  strong. 

Come,  East  and  West  and  North, 
By  races,  as  snow-flakes, 
And  carry  my  purpose  forth, 
Which  neither  halts  nor  shakes. 

My  will  fulfilled  shall  be, 
For,  in  daylight  or  in  dark, 
My  thunderbolt  has  eyes  to  see 
His  way  home  to  the  mark. 


VOLUNTARIES. 


I. 

Low  and  mournful  be  the  strain, 
Haughty  thought  be  far  from  me  ; 
Tones  of  penitence  and  pain, 
Moanings  of  the  tropic  sea  ; 
Low  and  tender  in  the  cell 
Where  a  captive  sits  in  chains, 
Crooning  ditties  treasured  well 
From  his  Afric's  torrid  plains. 
Sole  estate  his  sire  bequeathed,  — 
Hapless  sire  to  hapless  son,  — 
Was  the  wailing  song  he  breathed, 
And  his  chain  when  life  was  done. 

What  his  fault,  or  what  his  crime  ? 
Or  what  ill  planet  crossed  his  prime  ? 
Heart  too  soft  and  will  too  weak 
To  front  the  fate  that  crouches  near,  — 
Dove  beneath  the  vulture's  beak  ;  — 
Will  song  dissuade  the  thirsty  spear  ? 
Dragged  from  his  mother's  arms  and  breast, 
Displaced,  disfurnished  here, 
His  wistful  toil  to  do  his  best 
Chilled  by  a  ribald  jeer. 
Great  men  in  the  Senate  sate, 
Sage  and  hero,  side  by  side, 
Building  for  their  sons  the  State, 
Which  they  shall  rule  with  pride. 
(205) 


206 


VOLUNTARIES. 


They  forbore  to  break  the  chain 
Which  bound  the  dusky  tribe, 
Checked  by  the  owners'  fierce  disdain, 
Lured  by  "  Union  "  as  the  bribe. 
Destiny  sat  by,  and  said, 
'  Pang  for  pang  your  seed  shall  pay, 
Hide  in  false  peace  your  coward  head, 
I  bring  round  the  harvest  day.' 

II. 

Freedom  all  winged  expands, 

Nor  perches  in  a  narrow  place  ; 

Her  broad  van  seeks  unplanted  lands  ; 

She  loves  a  poor  and  virtuous  race. 

Clinging  to  a  colder  zone 

Whose  dark  sky  sheds  the  snow-flake  down, 

The  snow-flake  is  her  banner's  star, 

Her  stripes  the  boreal  streamers  are. 

Long  she  loved  the  Northman  well  ; 

Now  the  iron  age  is  done, 

She  will  not  refuse  to  dwell 

With  the  offspring  of  the  Sun  ; 

Foundling  of  the  desert  far, 

Where  palms  plume,  siroccos  blaze, 

He  roves  unhurt  the  burning  ways 

In  climates  of  the  summer  star. 

He  has  avenues  to  God 

Hid  from  men  of  Northern  brain, 

Far  behold  ing,  without  cloud, 

What  these  with  slowest  steps  attain. 

If  once  the  generous  chief  arrive 

To  lead  him  willing  to  be  led, 


VOLUNTARIES. 


207 


For  freedom  he  will  strike  and  strive, 
And  drain  his  heart  till  he  be  dead. 

III. 

In  an  age  of  fops  and  toys, 

Wanting  wisdom,  void  of  right, 

Who  shall  nerve  heroic  boys 

To  hazard  all  in  Freedom's  fight,  — 

Break  sharply  off  their  jolly  games, 

Forsake  their  comrades  gay 

And  quit  proud  homes  and  youthful  dames 

For  famine,  toil  and  fray  ? 

Yet  on  the  nimble  air  benign 

Speed  nimbler  messages, 

That  waft  the  breath  of  grace  divine 

To  hearts  in  sloth  and  ease. 

So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 

So  near  is  God  to  man, 

When  duty  whispers  low,  Thou  must. 

The  youth  replies,  /  can. 

IV. 

O,  well  for  the  fortunate  soul 
Which  Music's  wings  infold, 
Stealing  away  the  memory 
Of  sorrows  new  and  old  ! 
Yet  happier  he  whose  inward  sight, 
Stayed  on  his  subtile  thought, 
Shuts  his  sense  on  toys  of  time, 
To  vacant  bosoms  brought. 
But  best  befriended  of  the  God 


VOLUNTARIES. 


He  who,  in  evil  times, 
Warned  by  an  inward  voice, 
Heeds  not  the  darkness  and  the  dread, 
Biding  by  his  rule  and  choice, 
Feeling  only  the  fiery  thread 
Leading  over  heroic  ground, 
Walled  with  mortal  terror  round, 
To  the  aim  which  him  allures, 
And  the  sweet  heaven  his  deed  secures. 
Peril  around,  all  else  appalling, 
Cannon  in  front  and  leaden  rain 
Him  duty  through  the  clarion  calling 
To  the  van  called  not  in  vain. 

Stainless  soldier  on  the  walls, 
Knowing  this,  —  and  knows  no  more,  — 
Whoever  fights,  whoever  falls, 
Justice  conquers  evermore, 
Justice  after  as  before,  — 
And  he  who  battles  on  her  side, 
God,  though  he  were  ten  times  slain, 
Crowns  him  victor  glorified, 
Victor  over  death  and  pain. 

V. 

Blooms  the  laurel  which  belongs 
To  the  valiant  chief  who  fights  ; 
I  see  the  wreath,  I  hear  the  songs 
Lauding  the  Eternal  Rights, 
Victors  over  daily  wrongs  : 
Awful  victors,  they  misguide 
Whom  they  will  destroy, 


VOLUNTARIES. 


209 


And  their  coming  triumph  hide 
In  our  downfall,  or  our  joy  : 
They  reach  no  term,  they  never  sleep, 
In  equal  strength  through  space  abide  ; 
Though,  feigning  dwarfs,  they  crouch  and  creep, 
The  strong  they  slay,  the  swift  outstride  : 
Fate's  grass  grows  rank  in  valley  clods, 
And  rankly  on  the  castled  steep,  — 
Speak  it  firmly,  these  are  gods, 
All  are  ghosts  beside. 
14 


BOSTON. 


SICUT  PATBJBUS,  SIT  DEUS  NOBIS. 

[Read  in  Faneuil  Hall,  on  December  16,  1873  ;  the  Centennial  Amiiver 
sary  of  the  Destruction  of  the  Tea  in  Boston  Harbor.] 

The  rocky  nook  with  hill-tops  three 
Looked  eastward  from  the  farms, 

And  twice  each  day  the  flowing  sea 
Took  Boston  in  its  arms  ; 

The  men  of  yore  were  stout  and  poor, 

And  sailed  for  bread  to  every  shore. 

And  where  they  went  on  trade  intent 

They  did  what  freemen  can, 
Their  dauntless  ways  did  all  men  praise, 

The  merchant  was  a  man. 
The  world  was  made  for  honest  trade,  — 
To  plant  and  eat  be  none  afraid. 

The  waves  that  rocked  them  on  the  deep 

-  To  them  their  secret  told  ; 
Said  the  winds  that  sung  the  lads  to  sleep, 

"  Like  us  be  free  and  bold  !  " 
The  honest  waves  refused  to  slaves 
The  empire  of  the  ocean  caves. 

Old  Europe  groans  with  palaces, 

Has  lords  enough  and  more  ;  — 
We  plant  and  build  by  foaming  seas 

A  city  of  the  poor  ;  — 
(210) 


BOSTON. 


For  day  by  day  could  Boston  Bay 
Their  honest  labor  overpay. 

We  grant  no  dukedoms  to  the  few, 
We  hold  like  rights,  and  shall ;  — 

Equal  on  Sunday  in  the  pew, 
On  Monday  in  the  mall, 

For  what  avail  the  plough  or  sail, 

Or  land  or  life,  if  freedom  fail  ? 

The  noble  craftsman  we  promote, 
Disown  the  knave  and  fool  ; 

Each  honest  man  shall  have  his  vote, 
Each  child  shall  have  his  school. 

A  union  then  of  honest  men, 

Or  union  never  more  again. 

The  wild  rose  and  the  barberry  thorn 
Hung  out  their  summer  pride, 

Where  now  on  heated  pavements  worn 
The  feet  of  millions  stride. 

Fair  rose  the  planted  hills  behind 

The  good  town  on  the  bay, 
And  where  the  western  hills  declined 

The  prairie  stretched  away. 

What  care  though  rival  cities  soar 

Along  the  stormy  coast, 
Penn's  town,  New  York  and  Baltimore, 

If  Boston  knew  the  most  ! 

They  laughed  to  know  the  world  so  wide 
The  mountains  said,  "  Good-day  ! 


212 


BOSTON. 


We  greet  you  well,  you  Saxon  men, 

Up  with  your  towns  and  stay  !  " 
The  world  was  made  for  honest  trade,  — ■ 
To  plant  and  eat  be  none  afraid. 

"  For  you,"  they  said,  "  no  barriers  be, 
For  you  no  sluggard  rest ; 
Each  street  leads  downward  to  the  sea, 
Or  landward  to  the  west." 

O  happy  town  beside  the  sea, 

Whose  roads  lead  everywhere  to  all ; 

Than  thine  no  deeper  moat  can  be, 
No  stouter  fence,  no  steeper  wall ! 

Bad  news  from  George  on  the  English  throne  ; 
"  You  are  thriving  well,  "  said  he  ; 
"  Now  by  these  presents  be  it  known 
You  shall  pay  us  a  tax  on  tea  ; 
?T  is  very  small,  —  no  load  at  all,  — 
Honor  enough  that  we  send  the  call." 

"  Not  so,"  said  Boston,  "  good  my  lord, 

We  pay  your  governors  here 
Abundant  for  their  bed  and  board, 

Six  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
(Your  Highness  knows  our  homely  word,) 

Millions  for  self-government, 

But  for  tribute  never  a  cent." 

The  cargo  came  !  and  who  could  blame 

If  Indians  seized  the  tea, 
And,  chest  by  chest,  let  down  the  same, 

Into  the  laughing  sea  ? 


BOSTON. 


For  what  avail  the  plough  or  sail, 
Or  land  or  life,  if  freedom  fail  ? 

The  townsmen  braved  the  English  king, 
Found  friendship  in  the  French, 

And  honor  joined  the  patriot  ring 
Low  on  their  wooden  bench. 

O  bounteous  seas  that  never  fail ! 

O  day  remembered  yet ! 
O  happy  port  that  spied  the  sail 

Which  wafted  Lafayette  ! 
Pole-star  of  light  in  Europe's  night, 
That  never  faltered  from  the  right. 

Kings  shook  with  fear,  old  empires  crave 

The  secret  force  to  find 
Which  fired  the  little  State  to  save 

The  rights  of  all  mankind. 

But  right  is  might  through  all  the  world  ; 

Province  to  province  faithful  clung, 
Through  good  and  ill  the  war-bolt  hurled, 

Till  Freedom  cheered  and  joy-bells  rung. 

The  sea  returning  day  by  day 
Restores  the  world-wide  mart ; 

So  let  each  dweller  on  the  Bay 
Fold  Boston  in  his  heart, 

Till  these  echoes  be  choked  with  snows, 

Or  over  the  town  blue  ocean  flows. 

Let  the  blood  of  her  hundred  thousands 
Throb  in  each  manly  vein  ; 


BOSTON. 


And  the  wits  of  all  her  wisest, 
Make  sunshine  in  her  brain. 
For  you  can  teach  the  lightning  speech, 
And  round  the  globe  your  voices  reach. 

And  each  shall  care  for  other, 
And  each  to  each  shall  bend, 

To  the  poor  a  noble  brother, 
To  the  good  an  equal  friend. 

A  blessing  through  the  ages  thus 
Shields  all  thy  roofs  and  towers  ! 

God  with  the  fathers,  so  with  us, 
Thou  darling  town  of  ours  ! 


This  poem  was  begun  several  years  before  the  War,  but  was 
not  finished  until  the  occasion  of  its  delivery  in  1873,  the  anni- 
versary festival,  when  the  piece  was  entirely  remodelled. 

Some  of  the  suppressed  stanzas  are  here  given. 

The  poem  began  thus  :  — 

The  land  that  has  no  song 

Shall  have  a  song  to-day : 
The  granite  ledge  is  dumb  too  long, 

The  vales  have  much  to  say  : 
For  you  can  teach  the  lightning  speech, 
And  round  the  globe  your  voices  reach. 

After  the  lines  on  Lafayette  followed  these  stanzas  :  — 

O  pity  that  I  pause  ! 

The  song  disdaining  shuns 
To  name  the  noble  sires,  because 

Of  the  unworthy  sons : 
For  what  avail  the  plough  or  sail, 
Or  land  or  life,  if  freedom  fail  ? 


BOSTON. 


But  there  was  chaff  within  the  flour, 

And  one  was  false  in  ten, 
And  reckless  clerks  in  lust  of  power 

Forgot  the  rights  of  men ; 
Cruel  and  blind  did  file  their  mind, 
And  sell  the  blood  of  human  kind. 

Your  town  is  full  of  gentle  names, 
By  patriots  once  were  watchwords  made 

Those  war-cry  names  are  muffled  shames 
On  recreant  sons  mislaid. 

What  slave  shall  dare  a  name  to  wear 

Once  Freedom's  passport  everywhere  ? 

O  welaway  !  if  this  be  so, 
And  man  cannot  afford  the  right, 

And  if  the  wage  of  love  be  woe, 
And  honest  dealing  yield  despite. 

For  what  avail  or  plough  or  sail, 

Or  land  or  life,  if  freedom  fail  ? 

Hie  to  the  woods,  sleek  citizen, 
Back  to  the  sea,  go,  landsman,  down, 

Climb  the  White  Hills,  fat  alderman, 
And  vacant  leave  the  town, 

Ere  these  echoes  be  choked  with  snows, 

Or  over  the  roofs  blue  Ocean  flows. 


LETTERS. 


Every  day  brings  a  ship, 
Every  ship  brings  a  word  ; 
Well  for  those  who  have  no  fear, 
Looking  seaward  well  assured 
That  the  word  the  vessel  brings 
Is  the  word  they  wish  to  hear. 
(216) 


RUBIES. 


They  brought  me  rubies  from  the  mine, 

And  held  them  to  the  sun  ; 
I  said,  they  are  drops  of  frozen  wine 

From  Eden's  vats  that  run. 

I  looked  again,  —  I  thought  them  hearts 

Of  friends  to  friends  unknown  ; 
Tides  that  should  warm  each  neighboring  life 

Are  locked  in  sparkling  stone. 

But  fire  to  thaw  that  ruddy  snow, 

To  break  enchanted  ice, 
And  give  love's  scarlet  tides  to  flow,  — 

When  shall  that  sun  arise  ? 

(217) 


THE  TEST. 


(Musa  loquitur.) 

I  hung  my  verses  in  the  wind, 
Time  and  tide  their  faults  may  find. 
All  were  winnowed  through  and  through, 
Five  lines  lasted  sound  and  true  ; 
Five  were  smelted  in  a  pot 
Than  the  South  more  fierce  and  hot  ; 
These  the  siroc  could  not  melt, 
Fire  their  fiercer  flaming  felt, 
And  the  meaning  was  more  white 
Than  July's  meridian  light. 
Sunshine  cannot  bleach  the  snow, 
Nor  time  unmake  what  poets  know. 
Have  you  eyes  to  find  the  five 
Which  five  hundred  did  survive  ? 
(218) 


SOLUTION. 


I  am  the  Muse  who  sung  alway 
By  Jove,  at  dawn  of  the  first  day. 
Star-crowned,  sole-sitting,  long  I  wrought 
To  fire  the  stagnant  earth  with  thought : 
On  spawning  slime  my  song  prevails, 
Wolves  shed  their  fangs,  and  dragons  scales  ; 
Flushed  in  the  sky  the  sweet  May-morn, 
Earth  smiled  with  flowers,  and  man  was  born. 
Then  Asia  yeaned  her  shepherd  race, 
And  Nile  substructs  her  granite  base, — 
Tented  Tartary,  columned  Mle,  — 
And,  under  vines,  on  rocky  isle, 
Or  on  wind-blown  sea-marge  bleak, 
Forward  stepped  the  perfect  Greek  : 
That  wit  and  joy  might  find  a  tongue, 
And  earth  grow  civil,  Homer  sung. 

Flown  to  Italy  from  Greece, 
I  brooded  long  and  held  my  peace, 
For  I  am  wont  to  sing  uncalled, 
And  in  days  of  evil  plight 
Unlock  doors  of  new  delight  ; 
And  sometimes  mankind  I  appalled 
With  a  bitter  horoscope, 
With  spasms  of  terror  for  balm  of  hope. 
Then  by  better  thought  I  lead 
Bards  to  speak  what  nations  need  ; 
So  I  folded  me  in  fears, 
(219) 


220 


SOLUTION. 


And  Dante  searched  the  triple  spheres, 
Moulding  nature  at  his  will, 
So  shaped,  so  colored,  swift  or  still, 
And,  sculptor-like,  his  large  design 
Etched  on  Alp  and  Apennine. 

Seethed  in  mists  of  Penmanmaur, 
Taught  by  Plinlimmon's  Druid  power, 
England's  genius  filled  all  measure 
Of  heart  and  soul,  of  strength  and  pleasure, 
Gave  to  the  mind  its  emperor, 
And  life  was  larger  than  before  : 
Nor  sequent  centuries  could  hit 
Orbit  and  sum  of  Shakspeare's  wit. 
The  men  who  lived  with  him  became 
Poets,  for  the  air  was  fame. 

Far  in  the  North,  where  polar  night 
Holds  in  check  the  frolic  light, 
In  trance  upborne  past  mortal  goal 
The  Swede  Emanuel  leads  the  soul. 
Through  snows  above,  mines  underground, 
The  inks  of  Erebus  he  found  ; 
Rehearsed  to  men  the  damned  wails 
On  which  the  seraph  music  sails. 
In  spirit-worlds  he  trod  alone, 
But  walked  the  earth  unmarked,  unknown. 
The  near  by-stander  caught  no  sound,  — 
Yet  they  who  listened  far  aloof 
Heard  rendings  of  the  skyey  roof, 
And  felt,  beneath,  the  quaking  ground  ; 
And  his  air-sown,  unheeded  words, 
In  the  next  age,  are  flaming  swords. 


SOLUTION. 


In  newer  days  of  war  and  trade, 
Romance  forgot,  and  faith  decayed, 
When  Science  armed  and  guided  War, 
And  clerks  the  Janus-gates  unbar, 
When  France,  where  poet  never  grew, 
Halved  and  dealt  the  globe  anew, 
Goethe,  raised  o'er  joy  and  strife, 
Drew  the  firm  lines  of  Fate  and  Life, 
And  brought  Olympian  wisdom  down 
To  court  and  mart,  to  gown  and  town 
Stooping,  his  finger  wrote  in  clay 
The  open  secret  of  to-day. 

So  bloom  the  unfading  petals  five? 
And  verses  that  all  verse  outlive. 


HYMN 


SUNG  AT  THE  SECOND  CHURCH,  BOSTON,  AT  THE  ORDI- 
NATION OF  REV.  CHANDLER  ROBBINS. 

We  love  the  venerable  house 

Our  fathers  built  to  God  ;  — 
In  heaven  are  kept  their  grateful  vows, 

Their  dust  endears  the  sod. 

Here  holy  thoughts  a  light  have  shed 

From  many  a  radiant  face, 
And  prayers  of  humble  virtue  made 

The  perfume  of  the  place. 

And  anxious  hearts  have  pondered  here 

The  mystery  of  life, 
And  prayed  the  eternal  Light  to  clear 

Their  doubts,  and  aid  their  strife. 

From  humble  tenements  around 

Came  up  the  pensive  train, 
And  in  the  church  a  blessing  found 

That  filled  their  homes  again  ; 

For  faith  and  peace  and  mighty  love 

That  from  the  Godhead  flow, 
Showed  them  the  life  of  Heaven  above 

Springs  from  the  life  below. 
(222) 


HYMN. 


They  live  with  God  ;  their  homes  are  dust  ; 
Yet  here  their  children  pray, 
And  in  this  fleeting  lifetime  trust 
To  find  the  narrow  way. 

On  him  who  by  the  altar  stands, 

On  him  thy  blessing  fall, 
Speak  through  his  lips  thy  pure  commands, 

Thou  heart  that  lovest  all. 


NATURE. 


I. 

Winters  know 
Easily  to  shed  the  snow, 
And  the  untaught  Spring  is  wise 
In  cowslips  and  anemones. 
Nature,  hating  art  and  pains, 
Baulks  and  baffles  plotting  brains  ; 
Casualty  and  Surprise 
Are  the  apples  of  her  eyes  ; 
But  she  dearly  loves  the  poor, 
And,  by  marvel  of  her  own, 
Strikes  the  loud  pretender  down. 
For  Nature  listens  in  the  rose 
And  hearkens  in  the  berry's  bell 
To  help  her  friends,  to  plague  her  foes, 
And  like  wise  God  she  judges  well. 
Yet  doth  much  her  love  excel 
To  the  souls  that  never  fell, 
To  swains  that  live  in  happiness 
And  do  well  because  they  please, 
Who  walk  in  ways  that  are  unfamed, 
And  feats  achieve  before  they  're  named, 
(224) 


NATURE. 


EL 

She  is  gamesome  and  good, 
But  of  mutable  mood,  — 
No  dreary  repeater  now  and  again, 
She  will  be  all  things  to  all  men. 
She  who  is  old,  but  nowise  feeble, 
Pours  her  power  into  the  people, 
Merry  and  manifold  without  bar, 
Makes  and  moulds  them  what  they  are, 
And  what  they  call  their  city  way 
Is  not  their  way,  but  hers, 
And  what  they  say  they  made  to-day, 
They  learned  of  the  oaks  and  firs. 
She  spawneth  men  as  mallows  fresh, 
Hero  and  maiden,  flesh  of  her  flesh  ; 
She  drugs  her  water  and  her  wheat 
With  the  flavors  she  finds  meet, 
And  gives  them  what  to  drink  and  eat ; 
And  having  thus  their  bread  and  growth, 
They  do  her  bidding,  nothing  loath. 
What 's  most  theirs  is  not  their  own, 
But  borrowed  in  atoms  from  iron  and  stone, 
And  in  their  vaunted  works  of  Art 
The  master-stroke  is  still  her  part. 
15  (225) 


The  sun  goes  down,  and  with  him  takes 
The  eoarsene.5.5  of  my  poor  ooriro  : 
T-r  irdr-  cxn  n ;  nn:.5,  ml  370  :_r  f^zie 
Of  Gypsy  beauty  blazes  higher. 

P:Jo  Xorrhern  girls  !  7:"  50-:rn  :nr  r-3,oe  ; 
Ton  eaptiTes  of  jour  air-tight  halls, 
Wear  oat  in-doors  yoar  sickly  days, 
Bat  leave  us  the  horizon  walls. 

And  if  I  take  yoo.  dames,  to  task, 
And  5.3,7     — ^i'^o-iz  grille, 
Then  too  are  Gypsies  in  a  mask, 
And  I  the  lady  all  the  while. 

If  on  :Lo  Loo,:!:,  "hel:—  :lr  mxn, 
I  oonrt  and  p  1.3,7  -^d:d  p;Jcr  VloidL 
Mo  filse  ::•  noino  :oot  ~ di5per  nine.  — 
Ono  sodl :  —  lor  senior  kn:~ 5  me 

Go,  keep  yoor  cheek's  rose  from  the  rain, 
For  teeth  and  hair  with  shopmen  deal ; 
My  swarthy  tint  is  in  the  grain, 
The  rocks  and  forest  know  it  reaL 

The  ~dd  oir  oI:-ve:L  in  onr  Imrs 
The  keen  stars  twinkle  in  our  eyes, 
The  birds  gave  us  our  wily  tongues, 
The  panther  in  our  dances  flies, 
226 ) 


THE  ROMANY  GIRL. 


You  doubt  we  read  the  stars  on  high, 
Nathless  we  read  your  fortunes  true  ; 
The  stars  may  hide  in  the  upper  sky, 
But  without  glass  we  fathom  you. 


DAYS. 

Daughters  of  Time,  the  hypocritic  Days, 

Muffled  and  dumb  like  barefoot  dervishes, 

And  marching  single  in  an  endless  file, 

Bring  diadems  and  fagots  in  their  hands. 

To  each  they  offer  gifts  after  his  will, 

Bread,  kingdoms,  stars,  and  sky  that  holds  them  all. 

I,  in  my  pleached  garden,  watched  the  pomp, 

Forgot  my  morning  wishes,  hastily 

Took  a  few  herbs  and  apples,  and  the  Day 

Turned  and  departed  silent.    I,  too  late, 

Under  her  solemn  fillet  saw  the  scorn. 

(228) 


THE  CHARTIST'S  COMPLAINT. 


Day  !  hast  thou  two  faces, 
Making  one  place  two  places  ? 
One,  by  humble  farmer  seen, 
Chill  and  wet,  unlighted,  mean, 
Useful  only,  triste  and  damp, 
Serving  for  a  laborer's  lamp  ? 
Have  the  same  mists  another  side, 
To  be  the  appanage  of  pride, 
Gracing  the  rich  man's  wood  and  lake, 
His  park  where  amber  mornings  break. 
And  treacherously  bright  to  show 
His  planted  isle  where  roses  glow  ? 
O  Day  !  and  is  your  mightiness 
A  sycophant  to  smug  success  ? 
Will  the  sweet  sky  and  ocean  broad 
Be  fine  accomplices  to  fraud  ? 
O  Sun  !  I  curse  thy  cruel  ray  : 
Back,  back  to  chaos,  harlot  Day  ! 
(229) 


MY  GARDEN. 


If  I  could  put  my  woods  in  song 
And  tell  what 's  there  enjoyed, 
All  men  would  to  my  gardens  throng, 
And  leave  the  cities  void. 

In  my  plot  no  tulips  blow,  — 
Snow-loving  pines  and  oaks  instead  ; 
And  rank  the  savage  maples  grow 
From  Spring's  faint  flush  to  Autumn  red. 

My  garden  is  a  forest  ledge 

Which  older  forests  bound  ; 

The  banks  slope  down  to  the  blue  lake-edge, 

Then  plunge  to  depths  profound. 

Here  once  the  Deluge  ploughed, 
Laid  the  terraces,  one  by  one  ; 
Ebbing  later  whence  it  flowed, 
They  bleach  and  dry  in  the  sun. 

The  sowers  made  haste  to  depart,  — 
The  wind  and  the  birds  which  sowed  it ; 
Not  for  fame,  nor  by  rules  of  art, 
Planted  these,  and  tempests  flowed  it. 

Waters  that  wash  my  garden  side 
Play  not  in  Nature's  lawful  web, 
/2303 


MY  GARDEN. 


231 


They  heed  not  moon  or  solar  tide,  — 
Five  years  elapse  from  flood  to  ebb. 

Hither  hasted,  in  old  time,  Jove, 
And  every  god,  —  none  did  refuse  ; 
And  be  sure  at  last  came  Love, 
And  after  Love,  the  Muse. 

Keen  ears  can  catch  a  syllable, 

As  if  one  spake  to  another, 

In  the  hemlocks  tall,  untamable, 

And  what  the  whispering  grasses  smother. 

iEolian  harps  in  the  pine 
Ring  with  the  song  of  the  Fates  ; 
Infant  Bacchus  in  the  vine,  — 
Far  distant  yet  his  chorus  waits. 

Canst  thou  copy  in  verse  one  chime 
Of  the  wood-bell's  peal  and  cry, 
Write  in  a  book  the  morning's  prime, 
Or  match  with  words  that  tender  sky  ? 

Wonderful  verse  of  the  gods, 
Of  one  import,  of  varied  tone  ; 
They  chant  the  bliss  of  their  abodes 
To  man  imprisoned  in  his  own. 

Ever  the  words  of  the  gods  resound  ; 
But  the  porches  of  man's  ear 
Seldom  in  this  low  life's  round 
Are  unsealed,  that  he  may  hear. 


MY  GARDEN. 


Wandering  voices  in  the  air 
And  murmurs  in  the  wold 
Speak  what  I  cannot  declare, 
Yet  cannot  all  withhold. 

When  the  shadow  fell  on  the  lake, 
The  whirlwind  in  ripples  wrote 
Air-bells  of  fortune  that  shine  and  break, 
And  omens  above  thought. 

But  the  meanings  cleave  to  the  lake, 
Cannot  be  carried  in  book  or  urn  ; 
Go  thy  ways  now,  come  later  back, 
On  waves  and  hedges  still  they  burn. 

These  the  fates  of  men  forecast, 
Of  better  men  than  live  to-day  ; 
If  who  can  read  them  comes  at  last 
He  will  spell  in  the  sculpture,  '  Stay.' 


THE  TITMOUSE. 


You  shall  not  be  overbold 

When  you  deal  with  arctic  cold, 

As  late  I  found  my  lukewarm  blood 

Chilled  wading  in  the  snow-choked  wood. 

How  should  I  fight  ?  my  f oeman  fine 

Has  million  arms  to  one  of  mine  : 

East,  west,  for  aid  I  looked  in  vain, 

East,  west,  north,  south,  are  his  domain. 

Miles  off,  three  dangerous  miles,  is  home  ; 

Must  borrow  his  winds  who  there  would  co^. 

Up  and  away  for  life  !  be  fleet !  — 

The  frost-king  ties  my  fumbling  feet, 

Sings  in  my  ears,  my  hands  are  stones, 

Curdles  the  blood  to  the  marble  bones, 

Tugs  at  the  heart-strings,  numbs  the  sense, 

And  hems  in  life  with  narrowing  fence. 

Well,  in  this  broad  bed  lie  and  sleep,  — 

The  punctual  stars  will  vigil  keep,  — 

Embalmed  by  purifying  cold  ; 

The  winds  shall  sing  their  dead-march  old. 

The  snow  is  no  ignoble  shroud, 

The  moon  thy  mourner,  and  the  cloud. 

Softly,  —  but  this  way  Fate  was  pointing. 
'T  was  coming  fast  to  such  anointing, 
When  piped  a  tiny  voice  hard  by, 
Gay  and  polite,  a  cheerful  cry, 
(233) 


234 


THE  TITMOUSE. 


Chic-chicadeedee  !  saucy  note 
Out  of  sound  heart  and  merry  throat, 
As  if  it  said,  '  Good  day,  good  sir  ! 
Fine  afternoon,  old  passenger  ! 
Happy  to  meet  you  in  these  places, 
Where  January  brings  few  faces.' 

This  poet,  though  he  live  apart, 
Moved  by  his  hospitable  heart, 
Sped,  when  I  passed  his  sylvan  fort, 
To  do  the  honors  of  his  court, 
As  fits  a  feathered  lord  of  land  ; 
Flew  near,  with  soft  wing  grazed  my  hand, 
Hopped  on  the  bough,  then,  darting  low, 
Prints  his  small  impress  on  the  snow, 
Shows  feats  of  his  gymnastic  play, 
Head  downward,  clinging  to  the  spray. 

Here  was  this  atom  in  full  breath, 
Hurling  defiance  at  vast  death  ; 
This  scrap  of  valor  just  for  play 
Fronts  the  north-wind  in  waistcoat  gray, 
As  if  to  shame  my  weak  behavior  ; 
I  greeted  loud  my  little  savior, 
'  You  pet !  what  dost  here  ?  and  what  for  ? 
In  these  woods,  thy  small  Labrador, 
At  this  pinch,  wee  San  Salvador  ! 
What  fire  burns  in  that  little  chest 
So  frolic,  stout  and  self-possest  ? 
Henceforth  I  wear  no  stripe  but  thine ; 
Ashes  and  jet  all  hues  outshine. 
Why  are  not  diamonds  black  and  gray, 
To  ape  thy  dare-devil  array  ? 


THE  TITMOUSE. 


235 


And  I  affirm,  the  spacious  North 
Exists  to  draw  thy  virtue  forth. 
I  think  no  virtue  goes  with  size  ; 
The  reason  of  all  cowardice 
Is,  that  men  are  overgrown, 
And,  to  be  valiant,  must  come  down 
To  the  titmouse  dimension.' 

'T  is  good- will  makes  intelligence, 
And  I  began  to  catch  the  sense 
Of  my  bird's  song  :  ( Live  out  of  doors 
In  the  great  woods,  on  prairie  floors. 
I  dine  in  the  sun  ;  when  he  sinks  in  the  sea, 
I  too  have  a  hole  in  a  hollow  tree  ; 
And  I  like  less  when  Summer  beats 
With  stifling  beams  on  these  retreats, 
Than  noontide  twilights  which  snow  makes 
With  tempest  of  the  blinding  flakes. 
For  well  the  soul,  if  stout  within, 
Can  arm  impregnably  the  skin  ; 
And  polar  frost  my  frame  defied, 
Made  of  the  air  that  blows  outside.' 

With  glad  remembrance  of  my  debt, 
I  homeward  turn  ;  farewell,  my  pet ! 
When  here  again  thy  pilgrim  comes, 
He  shall  bring  store  of  seeds  and  crumbs. 
Doubt  not,  so  long  as  earth  has  bread, 
Thou  first  and  foremost  shalt  be  fed  ; 
The  Providence  that  is  most  large 
Takes  hearts  like  thine  in  special  charge, 
Helps  who  for  their  own  need  are  strong, 
And  the  sky  doats  on  cheerful  song. 


THE  TITMOUSE. 


Henceforth  I  prize  thy  wiry  chant 
O'er  all  that  mass  and  minster  vaunt ; 
For  men  mis-hear  thy  call  in  Spring, 
As 't  would  accost  some  frivolous  wing, 
Crying  out  of  the  hazel  copse,  Phe-be  I 
And,  in  winter,  Chic-a-dee-dee  ! 
I  think  old  Caesar  must  have  heard 
In  northern  Gaul  my  dauntless  bird, 
And,  echoed  in  some  frosty  wold, 
Borrowed  thy  battle-numbers  bold. 
And  I  will  write  our  annals  new, 
And  thank  thee  for  a  better  clew, 
I,  who  dreamed  not  when  I  came  here 
To  find  the  antidote  of  fear, 
Now  hear  thee  say  in  Roman  key, 
Pcean  !  Veni,  vidi,  vici. 


THE  HARP. 

One  musician  is  sure, 
His  wisdom  will  not  fail, 
He  has  not  tasted  wine  impure, 
Nor  bent  to  passion  frail. 
Age  cannot  cloud  his  memory, 
Nor  grief  untune  his  voice, 
Ranging  down  the  ruled  scale 
From  tone  of  joy  to  inward  wail, 
Tempering  the  pitch  of  all 
In  his  windy  cave. 
He  all  the  fables  knows, 
And  in  their  causes  tells,  — 
Knows  Nature's  rarest  moods, 
Ever  on  her  secret  broods. 
The  Muse  of  men  is  coy, 
Oft  courted  will  not  come  ; 
In  palaces  and  market  squares 
Entreated,  she  is  dumb  ; 
But  my  minstrel  knows  and  tells 
The  counsel  of  the  gods, 
Knows  of  Holy  Book  the  spells, 
Knows  the  law  of  Night  and  Day, 
And  the  heart  of  girl  and  boy, 
The  tragic  and  the  gay, 
And  what  is  writ  on  Table  Round 
Of  Arthur  and  his  peers  ; 
What  sea  and  land  discoursing  say 
In  sidereal  years. 

(237) 


THE  HARP. 


He  renders  all  his  lore 
In  numbers  wild  as  dreams, 
Modulating  all  extremes,  — 
What  the  spangled  meadow  saith 
To  the  children  who  have  faith  ; 
Only  to  children  children  sing, 
Only  to  youth  will  spring  be  spring. 

Who  is  the  Bard  thus  magnified  ? 
When  did  he  sing  ?  and  where  abide  ? 

Chief  of  song  where  poets  feast 
Is  the  wind-harp  which  thou  seest 
In  the  casement  at  my  side. 

iEolian  harp, 
How  strangely  wise  thy  strain  ! 
Gay  for  youth,  gay  for  youth, 
(Sweet  is  art,  but  sweeter  truth,) 
In  the  hall  at  summer  eve 
Fate  and  Beauty  skilled  to  weave. 
From  the  eager  opening  strings 
Bung  loud  and  bold  the  song. 
Who  but  loved  the  wind-harp's  note  ? 
How  should  not  the  poet  doat 
On  its  mystic  tongue, 
With  its  primeval  memory, 
Beporting  what  old  minstrels  told 
Of  Merlin  locked  the  harp  within,  — 
Merlin  paying  the  pain  of  sin, 
Pent  in  a  dungeon  made  of  air,  — 
And  some  attain  his  voice  to  hear, 
Words  of  pain  and  cries  of  fear, 


THE  HARP. 


239 


But  pillowed  all  on  melody, 

As  fits  the  griefs  of  bards  to  be. 

And  what  if  that  all-echoing  shell, 

Which  thus  the  buried  Past  can  tell, 

Should  rive  the  Future,  and  reveal 

What  his  dread  folds  would  fain  conceal  ? 

It  shares  the  secret  of  the  earth, 

And  of  the  kinds  that  owe  her  birth. 

Speaks  not  of  self  that  mystic  tone, 

But  of  the  Overgods  alone  : 

It  trembles  to  the  cosmic  breath,  — 

As  it  heareth,  so  it  saith  ; 

Obeying  meek  the  primal  Cause, 

It  is  the  tongue  of  mundane  laws. 

And  this,  at  least,  I  dare  affirm, 

Since  genius  too  has  bound  and  term, 

There  is  no  bard  in  all  the  choir, 

Not  Homer's  self,  the  poet  sire, 

Wise  Milton's  odes  of  pensive  pleasure, 

Or  Shakspeare,  whom  no  mind  can  measure, 

Nor  Collins'  verse  of  tender  pain, 

Nor  Byron's  clarion  of  disdain, 

Scott,  the  delight  of  generous  boys, 

Or  Wordsworth,  Pan's  recording  voice,  — 

Not  one  of  all  can  put  in  verse, 

Or  to  this  presence  could  rehearse 

The  sights  and  voices  ravishing 

The  boy  knew  on  the  hills  in  spring, 

When  pacing  through  the  oaks  he  heard 

Sharp  queries  of  the  sentry-bird, 

The  heavy  grouse's  sudden  whir, 

The  rattle  of  the  kingfisher  ; 

Saw  bonfires  of  the  harlot  Hies 


THE  HARP. 


In  the  lowland,  when  day  dies  ; 

Or  marked,  benighted  and  forlorn, 

The  first  far  signal-fire  of  morn. 

These  syllables  that  Nature  spoke, 

And  the  thoughts  that  in  him  woke, 

Can  adequately  utter  none 

Save  to  his  ear  the  wind-harp  lone. 

Therein  I  hear  the  Parcae  reel 

The  threads  of  man  at  their  humming  wheel, 

The  threads  of  life  and  power  and  pain, 

So  sweet  and  mournful  falls  the  strain. 

And  best  can  teach  its  Delphian  chord 

How  Nature  to  the  soul  is  moored, 

If  once  again  that  silent  string, 

As  erst  it  wont,  would  thrill  and  ring. 

Not  long  ago  at  eventide, 
It  seemed,  so  listening,  at  my  side 
A  window  rose,  and,  to  say  sooth, 
I  looked  forth  on  the  fields  of  youth  : 
I  saw  fair  boys  bestriding  steeds, 
I  knew  their  forms  in  fancy  weeds, 
Long,  long  concealed  by  sundering  fates, 
Mates  of  my  youth,  —  yet  not  my  mates, 
Stronger  and  bolder  far  than  I, 
With  grace,  with  genius,  well  attired, 
And  then  as  now  from  far  admired, 
Followed  with  love 
They  knew  not  of, 
With  passion  cold  and  shy. 
O  joy,  for  what  recoveries  rare  ! 
Renewed,  I  breathe  Elysian  air, 
See  youth's  glad  mates  in  earliest  bloom,  — 


THE  HARP, 

Break  not  my  dream,  obtrusive  tomb  ! 
Or  teach  thou,  Spring  !  the  grand  recoil 
Of  life  resurgent  from  the  soil 
Wherein  was  dropped  the  mortal  spoil. 
16 


SEA-SHORE. 


I  heard  or  seemed  to  hear  the  chicling  Sea 
Say,  Pilgrim,  why  so  late  and  slow  to  come  ? 
Am  I  not  always  here,  thy  summer  home  ? 
Is  not  my  voice  thy  music,  morn  and  eve  ? 
My  breath  thy  healthful  climate  in  the  heats- 
My  touch  thy  antidote,  my  bay  thy  bath  ? 
Was  ever  building  like  my  terraces  ? 
Was  ever  couch  magnificent  as  mine  ? 
Lie  on  the  warm  rock-ledges,  and  there  lean 
A  little  hut  suffices  like  a  town. 
I  make  your  sculptured  architecture  vain, 
Yain  beside  mine.    I  drive  my  wedges  home, 
And  carve  the  coastwise  mountain  into  caves. 
Lo  !  here  is  Rome  and  Xineveh  and  Thebes, 
Karnak  and  Pyramid  and  Giant's  Stairs 
Half  piled  or  prostrate  ;  and  my  newest  slab 
Older  than  all  thy  race. 

Behold  the  Sea, 
The  opaline,  the  plentiful  and  strong, 
Yet  beautiful  as  is  the  rose  in  June, 
Fresh  as  the  trickling  rainbow  of  July  ; 
Sea  full  of  food,  the  nourisher  of  kinds, 
Purger  of  earth,  and  medicine  of  men  ; 
Creating  a  sweet  climate  by  my  breath, 
Washing  out  harms  and  griefs  from  memory, 
And,  in  my  mathematic  ebb  and  flow, 
Giving  a  hint  of  that  which  changes  not. 
(242) 


SEA-SHORE. 


243 


Rich  are  the  sea-gods  :  —  who  gives  gifts  but  they  ? 
They  grope  the  sea  for  pearls,  but  more  than  pearls  : 
They  pluck  Force  thence,  and  give  it  to  the  wise. 
For  every  wave  is  wealth  to  Daedalus, 
Wealth  to  the  cunning  artist  who  can  work 
This  matchless  strength.    Where  shall  he  find,  O 
waves  ! 

A  load  your  Atlas  shoulders  cannot  lift  ? 

I  with  my  hammer  pounding  evermore 
The  rocky  coast,  smite  Andes  into  dust, 
Strewing  my  bed,  and,  in  another  age, 
Rebuild  a  continent  of  better  men. 
Then  I  unbar  the  doors  :  my  paths  lead  out 
The  exodus  of  nations  :  I  disperse 
Men  to  all  shores  that  front  the  hoary  main. 

I  too  have  arts  and  sorceries  ; 
Illusion  dwells  forever  with  the  wave. 
I  know  what  spells  are  laid.    Leave  me  to  deal 
With  credulous  and  imaginative  man  ; 
For,  though  he  scoop  my  water  in  his  palm, 
A  few  rods  off  he  deems  it  gems  and  clouds. 
Planting  strange  fruits  and  sunshine  on  the  shore, 
I  make  some  coast  alluring,  some  lone  isle, 
To  distant  men,  who  must  go  there,  or  die. 


SONGr  OF  NATURE. 


Mine  are  the  night  and  morning, 
The  pits  of  air,  the  gulf  of  space, 
The  sportive  sun,  the  gibbous  moon, 
The  innumerable  days. 

I  hide  in  the  solar  glory, 
I  am  dumb  in  the  pealing  song, 
I  rest  on  the  pitch  of  the  torrent, 
In  slumber  I  am  strong. 

No  numbers  have  counted  my  tallies, 
No  tribes  my  house  can  fill, 
I  sit  by  the  shining  Fount  of  Life 
And  pour  the  deluge  still  ; 

And  ever  by  delicate  powers 
Gathering  along  the  centuries 
From  race  on  race  the  rarest  flowers, 
My  wreath  shall  nothing  miss. 

And  many  a  thousand  summers 
My  gardens  ripened  well, 
And  light  from  meliorating  stars 
With  firmer  glory  fell. 

I  wrote  the  past  in  characters 
Of  rock  and  fire  the  scroll, 
(244) 


SONG  OF  NATURE. 


245 


The  building  in  the  coral  sea, 
The  planting  of  the  coal. 

And  thefts  from  satellites  and  rings 
And  broken  stars  I  drew, 
And  out  of  spent  and  aged  things 
I  formed  the  world  anew  ; 

What  time  the  gods  kept  carnival, 
Tricked  out  in  star  and  flower, 
And  in  cramp  elf  and  saurian  forms 
They  swathed  their  too  much  power. 

Time  and  Thought  were  my  surveyors, 
They  laid  their  courses  well, 
They  boiled  the  sea,  and  piled  the  layers 
Of  granite,  marl  and  shell. 

But  he,  the  man-child  glorious,  — 
Where  tarries  he  the  while  ? 
The  rainbow  shines  his  harbinger, 
The  sunset  gleams  his  smile. 

My  boreal  lights  leap  upward, 
Forthright  my  planets  roll, 
And  still  the  man-child  is  not  born, 
The  summit  of  the  whole. 

Must  time  and  tide  forever  run  ? 
Will  never  my  winds  go  sleep  in  the  west  ? 
Will  never  my  wheels  which  whirl  the  sun 
And  satellites  have  rest  ? 


SONG  OF  NATURE. 


Too  much  of  donning  and  doffing, 
Too  slow  the  rainbow  fades, 
I  weary  of  my  robe  of  snow, 
My  leaves  and  my  cascades  ; 

I  tire  of  globes  and  races, 
Too  long  the  game  is  played  ; 
What  without  him  is  summer's  pomp, 
Or  winter's  frozen  shade  ? 

I  travail  in  pain  for  him, 
My  creatures  travail  and  wait ; 
His  couriers  come  by  squadrons. 
He  comes  not  to  the  gate. 

Twice  I  have  moulded  an  image, 
And  thrice  outstretched  my  hand, 
Made  one  of  day  and  one  of  night 
And  one  of  the  salt  sea-sand. 

One  in  a  Judsean  manger, 

And  one  by  Avon  stream, 

One  over  against  the  mouths  of  Nile, 

And  one  in  the  Academe. 

I  moulded  kings  and  saviors, 
And  bards  o'er  kings  to  rule  ;  — 
But  fell  the  starry  influence  short, 
The  cup  was  never  full. 


Yet  whirl  the  glowing  wheels  once  more, 
And  mix  the  bowl  again  ; 


SONG  OF  NATURE. 


Seethe,  Fate  !  the  ancient  elements, 
Heat,  cold,  wet,  dry,  and  peace  and  pain. 

Let  war  and  trade  and  creeds  and  song 
Blend,  ripen  race  on  race, 
The  sunburnt  world  a  man  shall  breed 
Of  all  the  zones  and  countless  days. 

No  ray  is  dimmed,  no  atom  worn, 
My  oldest  force  is  good  as  new, 
And  the  fresh  rose  on  yonder  thorn 
Gives  back  the  bending  heavens  in  dew. 


TWO  RIVERS, 


Thy  summer  voice,  Musketaquit, 

Repeats  the  music  of  the  rain  ; 

But  sweeter  rivers  pulsing  flit 

Through  thee,  as  thou  through  Concord  Plain. 

Thou  in  thy  narrow  banks  art  pent : 
The  stream  I  love  unbounded  goes 
Through  flood  and  sea  and  firmament ; 
Through  light,  through  life,  it  forward  flows. 

I  see  the  inundation  sweet, 

I  hear  the  spending  of  the  stream 

Through  years,  through  men,  through  nature  fleet, 

Through  love  and  thought,  through  power  and  dream. 

Musketaquit,  a  goblin  strong, 
Of  shard  and  flint  makes  jewels  gay  ; 
They  lose  their  grief  who  hear  his  song, 
And  where  he  winds  is  the  day  of  day. 

So  forth  and  brighter  fares  my  stream,  — 
Who  drink  it  shall  not  thirst  again  ; 
No  darkness  stains  its  equal  gleam, 
And  ages  drop  in  it  like  rain. 

(248) 


WALDEINSAMKEIT. 


I  DO  not  count  the  hours  I  spend 
In  wandering  by  the  sea  ; 
The  forest  is  my  loyal  friend, 
Like  God  it  useth  me. 

In  plains  that  room  for  shadows  make 
Of  skirting  hills  to  lie, 
Bound  in  by  streams  which  give  and  take 
Their  colors  from  the  sky  ; 

Or  on  the  mountain-crest  sublime, 
Or  down  the  oaken  glade, 
O  what  have  I  to  do  with  time  ? 
For  this  the  day  was  made. 

Cities  of  mortals  woe-begone 
Fantastic  care  derides, 
But  in  the  serious  landscape  lone 
Stern  benefit  abides. 

Sheen  will  tarnish,  honey  cloy, 
And  merry  is  only  a  mask  of  sad, 
But,  sober  on  a  fund  of  joy, 
The  woods  at  heart  are  glad. 

There  the  great  Planter  plants 
Of  fruitful  worlds  the  grain, 
(249) 


WALDEINSAMKEIT* 


And  with  a  million  spells  enchants 
The  souls  that  walk  in  pain. 

Still  on  the  seeds  of  all  he  made 

The  rose  of  beauty  burns  ; 

Through  times  that  wear  and  forms  that  fade, 

Immortal  youth  returns. 

The  black  ducks  mounting  from  the  lake, 
The  pigeon  in  the  pines, 
The  bittern's  boom,  a  desert  make 
Which  no  false  art  refines. 

Down  izi  yon  watery  nook, 

Where  bearded  mists  divide, 

The  gray  old  gods  whom  Chaos  knew, 

The  sires  of  Xature,  hide. 

Aloft,  in  secret  veins  of  air, 
Blows  the  sweet  breath  of  song, 
O,  few  to  scale  those  uplands  dare, 
Though  they  to  all  belong  ! 

See  thou  bring  not  to  field  or  stone 
The  fancies  found  in  books  ; 
Leave  authors'  eyes,  and  fetch  your  own, 
To  brave  the  landscape's  looks. 

Oblivion  here  thy  wisdom  is, 
Thy  thrift,  the  sleep  of  cares  ; 
For  a  proud  idleness  like  this 
Crowns  all  thy  mean  affairs. 


TERMINUS. 

It  is  time  to  be  old, 

To  take  in  sail :  — 

The  god  of  bounds, 

Who  sets  to  seas  a  shore, 

Came  to  me  in  his  fatal  rounds, 

And  said  :  '  No  more  ! 

No  farther  shoot 

Thy  broad  ambitious  branches,  and  thy  root. 
Fancy  departs  :  no  more  invent ; 
Contract  thy  firmament 
To  compass  of  a  tent. 
There 's  not  enough  for  this  and  that, 
Make  thy  option  which  of  two  ; 
Economize  the  failing  river, 
Not  the  less  revere  the  Giver, 
Leave  the  many  and  hold  the  few. 
Timely  wise  accept  the  terms, 
Soften  the  fall  with  wary  foot ; 
A  little  while 
Still  plan  and  smile, 
And,  fault  of  novel  germs, 
Mature  the  unfallen  fruit. 
Curse,  if  thou  wilt,  thy  sires, 
Bad  husbands  of  their  fires, 
Who,  when  they  gave  thee  breath, 
Failed  to  bequeath 
The  needful  sinew  stark  as  once, 
The  Baresark  marrow  to  thy  bones, 
(251) 


TERMINUS. 


But  left  a  legacy  of  ebbing  veins, 
Inconstant  heat  and  nerveless  reins,  — 
Amid  the  Muses,  left  thee  deaf  and  dumb, 
Amid  the  gladiators,  halt  and  numb.' 

As  the  bird  trims  her  to  the  gale, 
I  trim  myself  to  the  storm  of  time, 
I  man  the  rudder,  reef  the  sail, 
Obey  the  voice  at  eve  obeyed  at  prime  : 
*  Lowly  faithful,  banish  fear, 
Right  onward  drive  unharmed  ; 
The  port,  well  worth  the  cruise,  is  near, 
And  every  wave  is  charmed.' 


THE  NUN'S  ASPIRATION. 

The  yesterday  doth  never  smile, 
The  day  goes  drudging  through  the  while, 
Yet,  in  the  name  of  Godhead,  I 
The  morrow  front,  and  can  defy  ; 
Though  I  am  weak,  yet  God,  when  prayed, 
Cannot  withhold  his  conquering  aid. 
Ah  me  !  it  was  my  childhood's  thought, 
If  He  should  make  my  web  a  blot 
On  life's  fair  picture  of  delight, 
My  heart's  content  would  find  it  right. 
But  O,  these  waves  and  leaves,  — 
When  happy  stoic  Nature  grieves, 
No  human  speech  so  beautiful 
As  their  murmurs  mine  to  lull. 
On  this  altar  God  hath  built 
I  lay  my  vanity  and  guilt ; 
Nor  me  can  Hope  or  Passion  urge 
Hearing  as  now  the  lofty  dirge 
Which  blasts  of  Northern  mountains  hymn, 
Nature's  funeral  high  and  dim,  — 
Sable  pageantry  of  clouds, 
Mourning  summer  laid  in  shrouds. 
Many  a  day  shall  dawn  and  die, 
Many  an  angel  wander  by, 
And  passing,  light  my  sunken  turf 
Moist  perhaps  by  ocean  surf, 
Forgotten  amid  splendid  tombs, 
Yet  wreathed  and  hid  by  summer  blooms. 
(253) 


THE  NUN'S  ASPIRATION. 


On  earth  I  dream  ;  —  I  die  to  be  : 

Time,  shake  not  thy  bald  head  at  me. 

I  challenge  thee  to  hurry  past 

Or  for  my  turn  to  fly  too  fast. 

Think  me  not  numbed  or  halt  with  age, 

Or  cares  that  earth  to  earth  engage, 

Caught  with  love's  cord  of  twisted  beams, 

Or  mired  by  climate's  gross  extremes. 

I  tire  of  shams,  I  rush  to  be  : 

I  pass  with  yonder  comet  free,  — 

Pass  with  the  comet  into  space 

Which  mocks  thy  a3ons  to  embrace  ; 

iEons  which  tardily  unfold 

Realm  beyond  realm,  —  extent  untold  ; 

No  early  morn,  no  evening  late,  — 

Realms  self -upheld,  disdaining  Fate, 

Whose  shining  sons,  too  great  for  fame, 

Never  heard  thy  weary  name  ; 

Nor  lives  the  tragic  bard  to  say 

How  drear  the  part  I  held  in  one, 

How  lame  the  other  limped  away. 


APRIL. 


The  April  winds  are  magical 
And  thrill  our  tuneful  frames  ; 
The  garden  walks  are  passional 
To  bachelors  and  dames. 
The  hedge  is  gemmed  with  diamonds, 
The  air  with  Cupids  full, 
The  cobweb  clues  of  "Rosamond 
Guide  lovers  to  the  pool. 
Each  dimple  in  the  water, 
Each  leaf  that  shades  the  rock 
Can  cozen,  pique  and  flatter, 
Can  parley  and  provoke. 
Goodfellow,  Puck  and  goblins, 
Know  more  than  any  book. 
Down  with  your  doleful  problems, 
And  court  the  sunny  brook. 
The  south-winds  are  quick-witted, 
The  schools  are  sad  and  slow, 
The  masters  quite  omitted 
The  lore  we  care  to  know. 
(255) 


MAIDEN  SPEECH  OF  THE  iEOLIAN  HARP. 

Soft  and  sof tlier  hold  me,  friends  ! 
Thanks  if  your  genial  care 
Unbind  and  give  me  to  the  air. 
Keep  your  lips  or  finger-tips 
For  flute  or  spinet's  dancing  chips  ; 
I  await  a  tenderer  touch, 
I  ask  more  or  not  so  much  : 
Give  me  to  the  atmosphere,  — 
Where  is  the  wind,  my  brother,  —  where  ? 
Lift  the  sash,  lay  me  within, 
Lend  me  your  ears,  and  I  begin. 
For  gentle  harp  to  gentle  hearts 
The  secret  of  the  world  imparts  ; 
And  not  to-day  and  not  to-morrow 
Can  drain  its  wealth  of  hope  and  sorrow  ; 
But  day  by  day,  to  loving  ear 
Unlocks  new  sense  and  loftier  cheer. 
I 've  come  to  live  with  you,  sweet  friends, 
This  home  my  minstrel- journeyings  ends. 
Many  and  subtle  are  my  lays, 
The  latest  better  than  the  first, 
For  I  can  mend  the  happiest  days 
And  charm  the  anguish  of  the  worst. 
(256) 


CUPIDO. 

The  solid,  solid  universe 

Is  pervious  to  Love  ; 

With  bandaged  eyes  he  never  errs, 

Around,  below,  above. 

His  blinding  light 

He  flingeth  white 

On  God's  and  Satan's  brood, 

And  reconciles 

By  mystic  wiles 

The  evil  and  the  good. 

17  (257) 


THE  PAST. 


The  debt  is  paid, 

The  verdict  said, 

The  Furies  laid, 

The  plague  is  stayed, 

All  fortunes  made  ; 

Turn  the  key  and  bolt  the  door, 

Sweet  is  death  forevermore. 

Nor  haughty  hope,  nor  swart  chagrin, 

Nor  murdering  hate,  can  enter  in. 

All  is  now  secure  and  fast  ; 

Not  the  gods  can  shake  the  Past ; 

Flies-to  the  adamantine  door 

Bolted  down  forevermore. 

None  can  re-enter  there,  — 

No  thief  so  politic, 

No  Satan  with  a  royal  trick 

Steal  in  by  window,  chink,  or  hole, 

To  bind  or  unbind,  add  what  lacked, 

Insert  a  leaf,  or  forge  a  name, 

New-face  or  finish  what  is  packed, 

Alter  or  mend  eternal  Fact. 

(258) 


THE  LAST  FAREWELL. 


LINES  WRITTEN  BY  THE  AUTHOR'S  BROTHER,  EDWARD 
BLISS  EMERSON,  WHILST  SAILING  OUT  OF  BOSTON 
HARBOR,  BOUND  FOR  THE  ISLAND  OF  PORTO  RICO, 
IN  1832. 

Farewell,  ye  lofty  spires 
That  cheered  the  holy  light ! 
Farewell,  domestic  fires 
That  broke  the  gloom  of  night ! 
Too  soon  those  spires  are  lost, 
Too  fast  we  leave  the  bay, 
Too  soon  by  ocean  tost 
From  hearth  and  home  away, 
Far  away,  far  away. 

Farewell  the  busy  town, 
The  wealthy  and  the  wise, 
Kind  smile  and  honest  frown 
From  bright,  familiar  eyes. 
All  these  are  fading  now  ; 
Our  brig  hastes  on  her  way, 
Her  unremembering  prow 
Is  leaping  o'er  the  sea, 

Far  away,  far  away. 

Farewell,  my  mother  fond, 
Too  kind,  too  good  to  me  ; 
Nor  pearl  nor  diamond 
Would  pay  my  debt  to  thee. 
(259) 


THE  LAST  FAREWELL. 


But  even  thy  kiss  denies 
Upon  my  cheek  to  stay  ; 
The  winged  vessel  flies, 
And  billows  round  her  play, 

Far  away,  far  away. 

Farewell,  my  brothers  true, 
My  betters,  yet  my  peers  ; 
How  desert  without  you 
My  few  and  evil  years  ! 
But  though  aye  one  in  heart, 
Together  sad  or  gay, 
Rude  ocean  doth  us  part  ; 
We  separate  to-day, 

Far  away,  far  away. 

Farewell  I  breathe  again 
To  dim  New  England's  shore  ; 
My  heart  shall  beat  not  when 
I  pant  for  thee  no  more. 
In  yon  green  palmy  isle, 
Beneath  the  tropic  ray, 
I  murmur  never  while 
For  thee  and  thine  I  pray  ; 

Far  away,  far  away. 


IN  MEMORIAM. 


EDWARD  BUSS  EMERSON. 

I  mourn  upon  this  battle-field, 
But  not  for  those  who  perished  here. 
Behold  the  river-bank 
Whither  the  angry  farmers  came, 
In  sloven  dress  and  broken  rank, 
Nor  thought  of  fame. 
Their  deed  of  blood 
All  mankind  praise  ; 
Even  the  serene  Reason  says, 
It  was  well  done. 

The  wise  and  simple  have  one  glance 

To  greet  yon  stern  head-stone, 

Which  more  of  pride  than  pity  gave 

To  mark  the  Briton's  friendless  grave. 

Yet  it  is  a  stately  tomb  ; 

The  grand  return 

Of  eve  and  morn, 

The  year's  fresh  bloom, 

The  silver  cloud, 

Might  grace  the  dust  that  is  most  proud. 

Yet  not  of  these  I  muse 
In  this  ancestral  place, 
But  of  a  kindred  face 
That  never  joy  or  hope  shall  here  diffuse. 
(261) 


IN  MEMORIAM. 


Ah,  brother  of  the  brief  but  blazing  star ! 
What  hast  thou  to  do  with  these 
Haunting  this  bank's  historic  trees  ? 
Thou  born  for  noblest  life, 
For  action's  field,  for  victor's  car, 
Thou  living  champion  of  the  right  ? 
To  these  their  penalty  belonged  : 
I  grudge  not  these  their  bed  of  death, 
But  thine  to  thee,  who  never  wronged 
The  poorest  that  drew  breath. 

All  inborn  power  that  could 
Consist  with  homage  to  the  good 
Flamed  from  his  martial  eye  ; 
He  who  seemed  a  soldier  born, 
He  should  have  the  helmet  worn, 
All  friends  to  fend,  all  foes  defy, 
Fronting  foes  of  God  and  man, 
Frowning  down  the  evil-doer, 
Battling  for  the  weak  and  poor. 
His  from  youth  the  leader's  look 
Gave  the  law  which  others  took, 
And  never  poor  beseeching  glance 
Shamed  that  sculptured  countenance. 

There  is  no  record  left  on  earth, 
Save  in  tablets  of  the  heart, 
Of  the  rich  inherent  worth, 
Of  the  grace  that  on  him  shone, 
Of  eloquent  lips,  of  joyful  wit : 
He  could  not  frame  a  word  unfit, 
An  act  unworthy  to  be  done  ; 
Honor  prompted  every  glance, 


IN  MEMOEIAM. 


263 


Honor  came  and  sat  beside  him, 

In  lowly  cot  or  painful  road, 

And  evermore  the  cruel  god 

Cried,  "  Onward  !  "  and  the  palm-crown  showed. 

Born  for  success  he  seemed, 

With  grace  to  win,  with  heart  to  hold, 

With  shining  gifts  that  took  all  eyes, 

With  budding  power  in  college-halls, 

As  pledged  in  coming  days  to  forge 

Weapons  to  guard  the  State,  or  scourge 

Tyrants  despite  their  guards  or  walls. 

On  his  young  promise  Beauty  smiled, 

Drew  his  free  homage  unbeguiled, 

And  prosperous  Age  held  out  his  hand, 

And  richly  his  large  future  planned, 

And  troops  of  friends  enjoyed  the  tide,  — 

All,  all  was  given,  and  only  health  denied. 

I  see  him  with  superior  smile 
Hunted  by  Sorrow's  grisly  train 
In  lands  remote,  in  toil  and  pain, 
With  angel  patience  labor  on, 
With  the  high  port  he  wore  erewhile, 
When,  foremost  of  the  youthful  band. 
The  prizes  in  all  lists  he  won  ; 
Nor  bate  one  jot  of  heart  or  hope, 
And,  least  of  all,  the  loyal  tie 
Which  holds  to  home  'neath  every  sky, 
The  joy  and  pride  the  pilgrim  feels 
In  hearts  which  round  the  hearth  at  home 
Keep  pulse  for  pulse  with  those  who  roam. 

What  generous  beliefs  console 
The  brave  whom  Fate  denies  the  goal  I 


IN  MEMORIAM. 

If  others  reach  it,  is  content ; 

To  Heaven's  high  will  his  will  is  bent. 

Firm  on  his  heart  relied, 

What  lot  soe'er  betide, 

Work  of  his  hand 

He  nor  repents  nor  grieves, 

Pleads  for  itself  the  fact, 

As  unrepenting  Nature  leaves 

Her  every  act. 

Fell  the  bolt  on  the  branching  oak  ; 
The  rainbow  of  his  hope  was  broke  ; 
No  craven  cry,  no  secret  tear,  — 
He  told  no  pang,  he  knew  no  fear  ; 
Its  peace  sublime  his  aspect  kept, 
His  purpose  woke,  his  features  slept  j 
And  yet  between  the  spasms  of  pain 
His  genius  beamed  with  joy  again. 

O'er  thy  rich  dust  the  endless  smile 
Of  Nature  in  thy  Spanish  isle 
Hints  never  loss  or  cruel  break 
And  sacrifice  for  love's  dear  sake, 
Nor  mourn  the  unalterable  Days 
That  Genius  goes  and  Folly  stays. 
What  matters  how,  or  from  what  ground, 
The  freed  soul  its  Creator  found  ? 
Alike  thy  memory  embalms 
That  orange-grove,  that  isle  of  palms, 
And  these  loved  banks,  whose  oak-boughs  bold 
Root  in  the  blood  of  heroes  old. 


EXPERIENCE. 

The  lords  of  life,  the  lords  of  life,  — 
I  saw  them  pass 
In  their  own  guise, 
Like  and  unlike, 
Portly  and  grim,  — 
Use  and  Surprise, 
Surface  and  Dream, 
Succession  swift  and  Spectral  Wrong, 
Temperament  without  a  tongue, 
And  the  inventor  of  the  game 
Omnipresent  without  name  ;  — 
Some  to  see,  some  to  be  guessed, 
They  marched  from  east  to  west : 
Little  man,  least  of  all, 
Among  the  legs  of  his  guardians  tall, 
Walked  about  with  puzzled  look. 
Him  by  the  hand  dear  Nature  took, 
Dearest  Nature,  strong  and  kind, 
Whispered,  *  Darling,  never  mind  ! 
To-morrow  they  will  wear  another  face, 
The  founder  thou  ;  these  are  thy  race  ! 9 
(265) 


COMPENSATION. 


The  wings  of  Time  are  black  and  white, 
Pied  with  morning  and  with  night. 
Mountain  tall  and  ocean  deep 
Trembling  balance  duly  keep. 
In  changing  moon  and  tidal  wave 
Glows  the  feud  of  Want  and  Have. 
Gauge  of  more  and  less  through  space, 
Electric  star  or  pencil  plays, 
The  lonely  Earth  amid  the  balls 
That  hurry  through  the  eternal  halls, 
A  makeweight  flying  to  the  void, 
Supplemental  asteroid, 
Or  compensatory  spark, 
Shoots  across  the  neutral  Dark. 

Man 's  the  elm,  and  Wealth  the  vine  ; 
Stanch  and  strong  the  tendrils  twine  : 
Though  the  frail  ringlets  thee  deceive, 
None  from  its  stock  that  vine  can  reave. 
Fear  not,  then,  thou  child  infirm, 
There  's  no  god  dare  wrong  a  worm  ; 
Laurel  crowns  cleave  to  deserts, 
And  power  to  him  who  power  exerts. 
Hast  not  thy  share  ?    On  winged  feet, 
Lo  !  it  rushes  thee  to  meet ; 
And  all  that  Nature  made  thy  own, 
Floating  in  air  or  pent  in  stone, 
Will  rive  the  hills  and  swim  the  sea, 
And,  like  thy  shadow,  follow  thee. 
(266) 


POLITICS. 

Gold  and  iron  are  good 
To  buy  iron  and  gold  ; 
All  earth's  fleece  and  food 
For  their  like  are  sold. 
Boded  Merlin  wise, 
Proved  Napoleon  great, 
Nor  kind  nor  coinage  buys 
Aught  above  its  rate. 
Fear,  Craft  and  Avarice 
Cannot  rear  a  State. 
Out  of  dust  to  build 
What  is  more  than  dust,  — 
Walls  Amphion  piled 
Phoebus  stablish  must. 
When  the  Muses  nine 
With  the  virtues  meet, 
Find  to  their  design 
An  Atlantic  seat, 
By  green  orchard  boughs 
Fended  from  the  heat, 
Where  the  statesman  ploughs 
Furrow  for  the  wheat,  — 
When  the  Church  is  social  worth, 
When  the  state-house  is  the  hearth, 
Then  the  perfect  State  is  come, 
The  republican  at  home. 
(267) 


HEROISM. 

Ruby  wine  is  drunk  by  knaves, 
Sugar  spends  to  fatten  slaves, 
Rose  and  vine-leaf  deck  buffoons  ; 
Thunder-clouds  are  Jove's  festoons, 
Drooping  oft  in  wreaths  of  dread, 
Lightning-knotted  round  his  head  ; 
The  hero  is  not  fed  on  sweets, 
Daily  his  own  heart  he  eats  ; 
Chambers  of  the  great  are  jails, 
And  head- winds  right  for  royal  sails. 
(268) 


CHARACTER.1 


The  sun  set,  but  set  not  his  hope  : 
Stars  rose  ;  his  faith  was  earlier  up  : 
tixed  on  the  enormous  galaxy, 
Deeper  and  older  seemed  his  eye  ; 
And  matched  his  sufferance  sublime 
The  taciturnity  of  time. 
He  spoke,  and  words  more  soft  than  rain 
Brought  the  Age  of  Gold  again  : 
His  action  won  such  reverence  sweet 
As  hid  all  measure  of  the  feat. 


1  A  part  of  this  motto  was  taken  from  The  Poet,  an  early  poem  never 
published  by  Mr.  Emerson.   See  Appendix. 

(269) 


CULTURE. 


Can  rules  or  tutors  educate 
The  semigod  whom  we  await  ? 
He  must  be  musical, 
Tremulous,  impressional, 
Alive  to  gentle  influence 
Of  landscape  and  of  sky, 
And  tender  to  the  spirit-touch 
Of  man's  or  maiden's  eye  : 
But,  to  his  native  centre  fast, 
Shall  into  Future  fuse  the  Past, 
And  the  world's  flowing  fates  in  his  own  mould 
recast. 

(270) 


FRIENDSHIP. 

A  ruddy  drop  of  manly  blood 
The  surging  sea  outweighs, 
The  world  uncertain  conies  and  goes  ; 
The  lover  rooted  stays. 
I  fancied  he  was  fled,  — 
And,  after  many  a  year, 
Glowed  unexhausted  kindliness, 
Like  daily  sunrise  there. 
My  careful  heart  was  free  again, 
O  friend,  my  bosom  said, 
Through  thee  alone  the  sky  is  arched, 
Through  thee  the  rose  is  red  ; 
All  things  through  thee  take  nobler  form3 
And  look  beyond  the  earth, 
The  mill-round  of  our  fate  appears 
A  sun-path  in  thy  worth. 
Me  too  thy  nobleness  has  taught 
To  master  my  despair  ; 
The  fountains  of  my  hidden  life 
Are  through  thy  friendship  fair. 
(271) 


BEAUTY. 

Was  never  form  and  never  face 
So  sweet  to  Seyd  as  only  grace 
Which  did  not  slumber  like  a  stone, 
But  hovered  gleaming  and  was  gone. 
Beauty  chased  he  everywhere, 
In  flame,  in  storm,  in  clouds  of  air. 
He  smote  the  lake  to  feed  his  eye 
With  the  beryl  beam  of  the  broken  wave  ; 
He  flung  in  pebbles  well  to  hear 
The  moment's  music  which  they  gave. 
Oft  pealed  for  him  a  lofty  tone 
From  nodding  pole  and  belting  zone. 
He  heard  a  voice  none  else  could  hear 
From  centred  and  from  errant  sphere. 
The  quaking  earth  did  quake  in  rhyme, 
Seas  ebbed  and  flowed  in  epic  chime. 
In  dens  of  passion,  and  pits  of  woe, 
He  saw  strong  Eros  struggling  through, 
To  sun  the  dark  and  solve  the  curse, 
And  beam  to  the  bounds  of  the  universe. 
While  thus  to  love  he  gave  his  days 
In  loyal  worship,  scorning  praise, 
How  spread  their  lures  for  him  in  vain 
Thieving  Ambition  and  paltering  Gain  ! 
He  thought  it  happier  to  be  dead, 
To  die  for  Beauty,  than  live  for  bread. 
"  (272) 


MANNERS. 

Grace,  Beauty  and  Caprice 

Build  this  golden  portal ; 

Graceful  women,  chosen  men, 

Dazzle  every  mortal. 

Their  sweet  and  lofty  countenance 

His  enchanted  food  ; 

He  need  not  go  to  them,  their  forms 

Beset  his  solitude. 

He  looketh  seldom  in  their  face, 

His  eyes  explore  the  ground,  — 

The  green  grass  is  a  looking-glass 

Whereon  their  traits  are  found. 

Little  and  less  he  says  to  them, 

So  dances  his  heart  in  his  breast  ; 

Their  tranquil  mien  bereaveth  him 

Of  wit,  of  words,  of  rest. 

Too  weak  to  win,  too  fond  to  shun 

The  tyrants  of  his  doom, 

The  much  deceived  Endymion 

Slips  behind  a  tomb. 

18  (273) 


ART. 


Give  to  barrows,  trays  and  pans 
Grace  and  glimmer  of  romance  ; 
Bring  the  moonlight  into  noon 
Hid  in  gleaming  piles  of  stone  ; 
On  the  city's  paved  street 
Plant  gardens  lined  with  lilacs  sweet  % 
Let  spouting  fountains  cool  the  air, 
Singing  in  the  sun-baked  square  ; 
Let  statue,  picture,  park  and  hall, 
Ballad,  flag  and  festival, 
The  past  restore,  the  day  adorn, 
And  make  to-morrow  a  new  morn. 
So  shall  the  drudge  in  dusty  frock 
Spy  behind  the  city  clock 
Retinues  of  airy  kings, 
Skirts  of  angels,  starry  wings, 
His  fathers  shining  in  bright  fables, 
His  children  fed  at  heavenly  tables. 
5T  is  the  privilege  of  Art 
Thus  to  play  its  cheerful  part, 
Man  on  earth  to  acclimate 
And  bend  the  exile  to  his  fate, 
And,  moulded  of  one  element 
With  the  days  and  firmament, 
Teach  him  on  these  as  stairs  to  climb, 
And  live  on  even  terms  with  Time  ; 
Whilst  upper  life  the  slender  rill 
Of  human  sense  doth  overfill. 
(274) 


SPIRITUAL  LAWS. 


The  living  Heaven  thy  prayers  respect, 
House  at  once  and  architect, 
Quarrying  man's  rejected  hours, 
Builds  therewith  eternal  towers  ; 
Sole  and  self-commanded  works, 
Fears  not  undermining  days, 
Grows  by  decays, 

And,  by  the  famous  might  that  lurks 
In  reaction  and  recoil, 
Makes  flame  to  freeze  and  ice  to  boil ; 
Forging,  through  swart  arms  of  Offence, 
The  silver  seat  of  Innocence. 

(275) 


UNITY. 


Space  is  ample,  east  and  west, 
But  two  cannot  go  abreast, 
Cannot  travel  in  it  two  : 
Yonder  masterful  cuckoo 
Crowds  every  egg  out  of  the  nest, 
Quick  or  dead,  except  its  own  ; 
A  spell  is  laid  on  sod  and  stone, 
Night  and  Day  were  tampered  with, 
Every  quality  and  pith 
Surcharged  and  sultry  with  a  power 
That  works  its  will  on  age  and  hour. 
(276) 


WORSHIP. 


This  is  he,  who,  felled  by  foes, 

Sprung  harmless  up,  refreshed  by  blows  : 

He  to  captivity  was  sold, 

But  him  no  prison-bars  would  hold  : 

Though  they  sealed  him  in  a  rock, 

Mountain  chains  he  can  unlock  : 

Thrown  to  lions  for  their  meat, 

The  crouching  lion  kissed  his  feet  ; 

Bound  to  the  stake,  no  flames  appalled, 

But  arched  o'er  him  an  honoring  vault. 

This  is  he  men  miscall  Fate, 

Threading  dark  ways,  arriving  late, 

But  ever  coming  in  time  to  crown 

The  truth,  and  hurl  wrong-doers  down. 

He  is  the  oldest,  and  best  known, 

More  near  than  aught  thou  call'st  thy  own, 

Yet,  greeted  in  another's  eyes, 

Disconcerts  with  glad  surprise. 

This  is  Jove,  who,  deaf  to  prayers, 

Floods  with  blessings  unawares. 

Draw,  if  thou  canst,  the  mystic  line 

Severing  rightly  his  from  thine, 

Which  is  human,  which  divine. 

(277) 


QUATRAINS. 


A.  H. 

High  was  her  heart,  and  yet  was  well  inclined, 
Her  manners  made  of  bounty  well  refined  ; 
Far  capitals  and  marble  courts,  her  eye  still  seemed  to 
see, 

Minstrels  and  kings  and  high-born  dames,  and  of  the 
best  that  be. 

"SUUM  CUIQUE." 

Wilt  thou  seal  up  the  avenues  of  ill  ? 
Pay  every  debt,  as  if  God  wrote  the  bill. 

hush  ! 

Every  thought  is  public, 
Every  nook  is  wide  ; 
Thy  gossips  spread  each  whisper, 
And  the  gods  from  side  to  side. 

ORATOR. 

He  who  has  no  hands 
Perforce  must  use  his  tongue  ; 
Foxes  are  so  cunning 
Because  they  are  not  strong. 
(278) 


QUATRAINS. 


ARTIST. 

Quit  the  hut,  frequent  the  palace, 
Reck  not  what  the  people  say  ; 
For  still,  where'er  the  trees  grow  biggest, 
Huntsmen  find  the  easiest  way. 

poet. 

Ever  the  Poet  from  the  land 
Steers  his  bark  and  trims  his  sail  ; 
Right  out  to  sea  his  courses  stand, 
New  worlds  to  find  in  pinnace  frail. 

POET. 

To  clothe  the  fiery  thought 
In  simple  words  succeeds, 
For  still  the  craft  of  genius  is 
To  mask  a  king  in  weeds. 

BOTANIST. 

Go  thou  to  £hy  learned  task, 
I  stay  with  the  flowers  of  spring  : 
Do  thou  of  the  ages  ask 
What  me  the  hours  will  bring. 

GARDENER. 

True  Brahmin,  in  the  morning  meadows  wet, 
Expound  the  Vedas  of  the  violet, 
Or,  hid  in  vines,  peeping  through  many  a  loop, 
See  the  plum  redden,  and  the  beurre  stoop. 


QUATRAINS* 


FORESTER. 

He  took  the  color  of  his  vest 
From  rabbit's  coat  or  grouse's  breast ; 
For,  as  the  wood-kinds  lurk  and  hide, 
So  walks  the  woodman,  unespied. 

NORTHMAN. 

The  gale  that  wrecked  you  on  the  sand, 
It  helped  my  rowers  to  row  ; 
The  storm  is  my  best  galley  hand 
And  drives  me  where  I  go. 

FROM  ALCUIN. 

The  sea  is  the  road  of  the  bold, 
Frontier  of  the  wheat-sown  plains, 
The  pit  wherein  the  streams  are  rolled 
And  fountain  of  the  rains. 

EXCELSIOR. 

Over  his  head  were  the  maple  buds, 
And  over  the  tree  was  the  moon, 
And  over  the  moon  were  the  starry  studs 
That  drop  from  the  angels'  shoon. 

s.  h. 

With  beams  December  planets  da*rt 
His  cold  eye  truth  and  conduct  scanned, 
July  was  in  his  sunny  heart, 
October  in  his  liberal  hand. 


QUATRAINS. 


281 


BORROWING. 
FROM  THE  FRENCH. 

Some  of  your  hurts  you  have  cured, 
And  the  sharpest  you  still  have  survived, 
But  what  torments  of  grief  you  endured 
From  evils  which  never  arrived  ! 

NATURE. 

Boon  Nature  yields  each  day  a  brag  which  we  now  first 
behold, 

And  trains  us  on  to  slight  the  new,  as  if  it  were  the 
old  : 

But  blest  is  he,  who,  playing  deep,  yet  haply  asks  not 
why, 

Too  busied  with  the  crowded  hour  to  fear  to  live  or 
die. 

FATE. 

Her  planted  eye  to-day  controls, 
Is  in  the  morrow  most  at  home, 
And  sternly  calls  to  being  souls 
That  curse  her  when  they  come. 

HOROSCOPE. 

Ere  he  was  born,  the  stars  of  fate 
Plotted  to  make  him  rich  and  great  : 
When  from  the  womb  the  babe  was  loosed, 
The  gate  of  gifts  behind  him  closed. 


282 


QUATRAINS. 


POWER. 

Cast  the  bantling  on  the  rocks, 
Suckle  him  with  the  she-wolf's  teat, 
Wintered  with  the  hawk  and  fox, 
Power  and  speed  be  hands  and  feet. 

CLIMACTERIC. 

I  AM  not  wiser  for  my  age, 

Nor  skilful  by  my  grief  ; 

Life  loiters  at  the  book's  first  page,  — 

Ah  !  could  we  turn  the  leaf. 

HERI,  CRAS,  HODIE. 

Shines  the  last  age,  the  next  with  hope  is  seen, 
To-day  slinks  poorly  off  unmarked  between  : 
Future  or  Past  no  richer  secret  folds, 
O  friendless  Present !  than  thy  bosom  holds. 

memory. 

Night-dreams  trace  on  Memory's  wall 
Shadows  of  the  thoughts  of  day, 
And  thy  fortunes,  as  they  fall, 
The  bias  of  the  will  betray. 

LOVE. 

Love  on  his  errand  bound  to  go 

Can  swim  the  flood  and  wade  through  snow, 


QUATRAINS. 

Whe  >re  way  is  none,  't  vill  creep  and  wind 
And  eat  through  Alps  its  home  to  find. 

SACRIFICE. 

Though  love  repine,  and  reason  chafe, 
There  came  a  voice  without  reply,  — 
'  'T  is  man's  perdition  to  be  safe, 
When  for  the  truth  he  ought  to  die.' 

PERICLES. 

Well  and  wisely  said  the  Greek, 
Be  thou  faithful,  but  not  fond  ; 
To  the  altar's  foot  thy  fellow  seek,  — 
The  Furies  wait  beyond. 

CASELLA. 

Test  of  the  poet  is  knowledge  of  love, 
For  Eros  is  older  than  Saturn  or  Jove  ; 
Never  was  poet,  of  late  or  of  yore, 
Who  was  not  tremulous  with  love-lore. 

shakspeare. 

I  SEE  all  human  wits 
Are  measured  but  a  few  ; 
Unmeasured  still  my  Shakspeare  sits, 
Lone  as  the  blessed  Jew. 

HAFIZ. 

Her  passions  the  shy  violet 
From  Hafiz  never  hides  ; 


QUATRAINS. 

Love-longings  c  f  the  raptured  bi  ^ 
The  bird  to  him  confides. 


NATURE  IN  LEASTS. 

As  sings  the  pine-tree  in  the  wind, 
So  sings  in  the  wind  a  sprig  of  the  p.^ 
Her  strength  and  soul  has  laughing  1^ 
Shed  in  each  drop  of  wine. 


AAAKPYN  NEMONTAI  AIHNA. 
A  NEW  commandment,'  said  the  smiling  I^uge 
I  give  my  darling  son,  Thou  shalt  not  Prejicn  >\ 
Luther,  Fox,  Behmen,  Swedenborg,  grew  9 
And,  on  the  instant,  rosier  clouds  upbore 
Hafiz  and  Shakspeare  with  their  shining  cht^rg 


TRANSLATIONS. 


SONNET  OF  MICHAEL  ANGELO  BUONAROTTI. 

Never  did  sculptor's  dream  unfold 

A  form  which  marble  doth  not  hold 

In  its  white  block  ;  yet  it  therein  shall  find 

Only  the  hand  secure  and  bold 

Which  still  obeys  the  mind. 

So  hide  in  thee,  thou  heavenly  dame, 

The  ill  I  shun,  the  good  I  claim  ; 

I  alas  !  not  well  alive, 

Miss  the  aim  whereto  I  strive. 

Not  love,  nor  beauty's  pride, 

Nor  Fortune,  nor  thy  coldness,  can  I  chide, 

If,  whilst  within  thy  heart  abide 

Both  death  and  pity,  my  unequal  skill 

Fails  of  the  life,  but  draws  the  death  and  ill. 

THE  EXILE. 
FROM  THE  PERSIAN  OF  KERMANI. 

In  Farsistan  the  violet  spreads 
Its  leaves  to  the  rival  sky  ; 
I  ask  how  far  is  the  Tigris  flood, 
And  the  vine  that  grows  thereby  ? 

Except  the  amber  morning  wind, 
Not  one  salutes  me  here  ; 
There  is  no  lover  in  all  Bagdat 
To  offer  the  exile  cheer. 

(285) 


TRANSLATIONS. 


I  know  that  thou,  O  morning  wind  ! 
O'er  Kernan's  meadow  blowest, 
And  thou,  heart-warming  nightingale  ! 
My  father's  orchard  knowest. 

The  merchant  hath  stuffs  of  price, 
And  gems  from  the  sea-washed  strand, 
And  princes  offer  me  grace 
To  stay  in  the  Syrian  land  ; 

But  what  is  gold  for,  but  for  gifts  ? 
And  dark,  without  love,  is  the  day  ; 
And  all  that  I  see  in  Bagdat 
Is  the  Tigris  to  float  me  away. 

FROM  HAFIZ. 

I  said  to  heaven  that  glowed  above, 
O  hide  yon  sun-filled  zone, 
Hide  all  the  stars  you  boast ; 
For,  in  the  world  of  love 
And  estimation  true, 
The  heaped-up  harvest  of  the  moon 
Is  worth  one  barley-corn  at  most, 
The  Pleiads'  sheaf  but  two. 


If  my  darling  should  depart, 

And  search  the  skies  for  prouder  friends, 

God  forbid  my  angry  heart 

In  other  love  should  seek  amends. 


TRANSLATIONS. 


287 


When  the  blue  horizon's  hoop 
Me  a  little  pinches  here, 
Instant  to  my  grave  I  stoop, 
And  go  find  thee  in  the  sphere. 

EPITAPH. 

Bethink,  poor  heart,  what  bitter  kind  of  jest 
Mad  Destiny  this  tender  stripling  played  ; 
For  a  warm  breast  of  maiden  to  his  breast, 
She  laid  a  slab  of  marble  on  his  head. 


They  say,  through  patience,  chalk 
Becomes  a  ruby  stone  ; 
Ah,  yes  !  but  by  the  true  heart's  blood 
The  chalk  is  crimson  grown. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

Thou  foolish  Hafiz  !    Say,  do  churls 
Know  the  worth  of  Oman's  pearls  ? 
Give  the  gem  which  dims  the  moon 
To  the  noblest,  or  to  none. 


Dearest,  where  thy  shadow  falls. 
Beauty  sits  and  Music  calls  ; 
Where  thy  form  and  favor  come, 
All  good  creatures  have  their  home. 


288 


TRANSLATIONS. 


On  prince  or  bride  no  diamond  stone 
Half  so  gracious  ever  shone, 
As  the  light  of  enterprise 
Beaming  from  a  young  man's  eyes. 


FROM  OMAR  KHAY  YAM. 

Each  spot  where  tulips  prank  their  state 
Has  drunk  the  life-blood  of  the  great ; 
The  violets  yon  field  which  stain 
Are  moles  of  beauties  Time  hath  slain. 


He  who  has  a  thousand  friends  has  not  a  friend  to 
spare, 

And  he  who  has  one  enemy  will  meet  him  everywhere. 


On  two  days  it  steads  not  to  run  from  thy  grave, 
The  appointed,  and  the  unappointed  day  ; 
On  the  first,  neither  balm  nor  physician  can  save, 
Nor  thee,  on  the  second,  the  Universe  slay. 

FROM  IBN  JEMIN. 

Two  things  thou  shalt  not  long  for,  if  thou  love  a  mind 

serene  ;  — 

A  woman  to  thy  wife,  though  she  were  a  crowned 
queen  ; 


TRANSLATIONS.  289 

And  the  second,  borrowed  money,  —  though  the  smil- 
ing lender  say 

That  he  will  not  demand  the  debt  until  the  Judgment 
Day. 

THE  FLUTE, 
FROM  HILALI. 

Hark  what,  now  loud,  now  low,  the  pining  flute  com- 
plains, 

Without  tongue,  yellow-cheeked,  full  of  winds  that  wail 
and  sigh  ; 

Saying,  Sweetheart !  the  old  mystery  remains,  — 
If  I  am  I ;  thou,  thou  ;  or  thou  art  I  ? 

TO  THE  SHAH. 
FROM  HAFIZ. 

Thy  foes  to  hunt,  thy  enviers  to  strike  down, 
Poises  Arcturus  aloft  morning  and  evening  his  spear. 

TO  THE  SHAH. 
FROM  ENWERI. 

Not  in  their  houses  stand  the  stars, 
But  o'er  the  pinnacles  of  thine  ! 

TO  THE  SHAH. 
FROM  ENWERI. 

From  thy  worth  and  weight  the  stars  gravitate, 
And  the  equipoise  of  heaven  is  thy  house's  equipoise 


290 


TRANSLATIONS. 


SONG  OF  SEYD  NIMETOLLAH  OF  KUHISTAN. 

[Among  the  religious  customs  of  the  dervishes  is  an  astronomical 
dance,  in  which  the  dervish  imitates  the  movements  of  the  heavenly- 
bodies,  by  spinning  on  his  own  axis,  whilst  at  the  same  time  he  re- 
volves round  the  Sheikh  in  the  centre,  representing  the  sun ;  and,  as 
he  spins,  he  sings  the  Song  of  Seyd  Nimetollah  of  Kuhistan.] 

Spin  the  ball !    I  reel,  I  burn, 
Nor  head  from  foot  can  I  discern, 
Nor  my  heart  from  love  of  mine, 
Nor  the  wine-cup  from  the  wine. 
All  my  doing,  all  my  leaving, 
Reaches  not  to  my  perceiving  ; 
Lost  in  whirling  spheres  I  rove, 
And  know  only  that  I  love. 

I  am  seeker  of  the  stone, 
Living  gem  of  Solomon  ; 
From  the  shore  of  souls  arrived, 
In  the  sea  of  sense  I  dived  ; 
But  what  is  land,  or  what  is  wave, 
To  me  who  only  jewels  crave  ? 
Love  is  the  air-fed  fire  intense, 
And  my  heart  the  frankincense  ; 
As  the  rich  aloes  flames,  I  glow, 
Yet  the  censer  cannot  know. 
I 'm  all-knowing,  yet  unknowing  ; 
Stand  not,  pause  not,  in  my  going. 

Ask  not  me,  as  Muftis  can, 
To  recite  the  Alcoran  ; 
Well  I  love  the  meaning  sweet,  — 
I  tread  the  book  beneath  my  feet. 


TRANSLATIONS. 


Lo  !  the  God's  love  blazes  higher, 
Till  all  difference  expire. 
What  are  Moslems  ?  what  are  Giaours  ? 
All  are  Love's,  and  all  are  ours. 
I  embrace  the  true  believers, 
But  I  reck  not  of  deceivers. 
Firm  to  Heaven  my  bosom  clings, 
Heedless  of  inferior  things  ; 
Down  on  earth  there,  underfoot, 
What  men  chatter  know  I  not. 


III. 

APPENDIX. 


THE  POET.1 


I. 

Right  upward  on  the  road  of  fame 
With  sounding  steps  the  poet  came; 
Born  and  nourished  in  miracles, 
His  feet  were  shod  with  golden  bells, 
Or  where  he  stepped  the  soil  did  peal 
As  if  the  dust  were  glass  and  steeL 
The  gallant  child  where'er  he  came 
Threw  to  each  fact  a  tuneful  name. 
The  things  whereon  he  cast  his  eyes 
Could  not  the  nations  rebaptize, 
Nor  Time's  snows  hide  the  names  he  set, 
Nor  last  posterity  forget. 
Yet  every  scroll  whereon  he  wrote 
In  latent  fire  his  secret  thought, 
Fell  unregarded  to  the  ground, 
Unseen  by  such  as  stood  around. 
The  pious  wind  took  it  away, 
The  reverent  darkness  hid  the  lay. 
Methought  like  water-haunting  birds 
Divers  or  dippers  were  his  words, 
And  idle  clowns  beside  the  mere 
At  the  new  vision  gape  and  jeer. 
But  when  the  noisy  scorn  was  past, 
Emerge  the  winged  words  in  haste. 

1  This  poem  was  begun  as  early  as  1831,  probably  earlier,  and  re- 
ceived additions  for  more  than  twenty  years,  but  was  never  completed. 
In  its  early  form,  it  was  entitled,  "  The  Discontented  Poet,  A  Masque." 
(295) 


THE  POET. 


New-bathed,  new-trimmed,  on  healthy  wing, 
Eight  to  the  heaven  they  steer  and  sing. 

A  Brother  of  the  world,  his  song 

Sounded  like  a  tempest  strong 

Which  tore  from  oaks  their  branches  broad, 

And  stars  from  the  ecliptic  road. 

Times  wore  he  as  his  clothing-weeds, 

He  sowed  the  sun  and  moon  for  seeds. 

As  melts  the  iceberg  in  the  seas, 

As  clouds  give  rain  to  the  eastern  breeze, 

As  snow-banks  thaw  in  April's  beam, 

The  solid  kingdoms  like  a  dream 

Resist  in  vain  his  motive  strain, 

They  totter  now  and  float  amain. 

For  the  Muse  gave  special  charge 

His  learning  should  be  deep  and  large, 

And  his  training  should  not  scant 

The  deepest  lore  of  wealth  or  want  : 

His  flesh  should  feel,  his  eyes  should  read 

Every  maxim  of  dreadful  Need  ; 

In  its  fulness  he  should  taste 

Life's  honeycomb,  but  not  too  fast ; 

Full  fed,  but  not  intoxicated  ; 

He  should  be  loved  ;  he  should  be  hated  5 

A  blooming  child  to  children  dear, 

His  heart  should  palpitate  with  fear. 

And  well  he  loved  to  quit  his  home 

And,  Calmuck,  in  his  wagon  roam 

To  read  new  landscapes  and  old  skies  :  — 

But  oh,  to  see  his  solar  eyes 

Like  meteors  which  chose  their  way 


THE  POET. 


297 


And  rived  the  dark  like  a  new  day  ! 

Not  lazy  grazing  on  all  they  saw, 

Each  ehimney-pot  and  cottage  door, 

Farm-gear  and  village  picket-fence, 

But,  feeding  on  magnificence, 

They  bounded  to  the  horizon's  edge 

And  searched  with  the  sun's  privilege. 

Landward  they  reached  the  mountains  old 

Where  pastoral  tribes  their  flocks  infold, 

Saw  rivers  run  seaward  by  cities  high 

And  the  seas  wash  the  low-hung  sky  ; 

Saw  the  endless  rack  of  the  firmament 

And  the  sailing  moon  where  the  cloud  was  rent, 

And  through  man  and  woman  and  sea  and  star 

Saw  the  dance  of  Nature  forward  and  far, 

Through  worlds  and  races  and  terms  and  times 

Saw  musical  order  and  pairing  rhymes. 

II. 

The  gods  talk  in  the  breath  of  the  woods, 

They  talk  in  the  shaken  pine, 

And  fill  the  long  reach  of  the  old  seashore 

With  dialogue  divine  ; 

And  the  poet  who  overhears 

Some  random  word  they  say 

Is  the  fated  man  of  men 

Whom  the  ages  must  obey  : 

One  who  having  nectar  drank 

Into  blissful  orgies  sank  ; 

He  takes  no  mark  of  night  or  day, 

He  cannot  go,  he  cannot  stay, 

He  would,  yet  would  not,  counsel  keep, 


THE  POET. 


But,  like  a  walker  in  his  sleep 
With  staring  eye  that  seeth  none, 
Ridiculously  up  and  down 
Seeks  how  he  may  fitly  tell 
The  heart-o'erlading  miracle. 

Not  yet,  not  yet, 

Impatient  friend,  — 

A  little  while  attend  ; 

Not  yet  I  sing  :  but  I  must  wait, 

My  hand  upon  the  silent  string, 

Fully  until  the  end. 

I  see  the  coming  light, 

I  see  the  scattered  gleams, 

Aloft,  beneath,  on  left  and  right 

The  stars'  own  ether  beams  ; 

These  are  but  seeds  of  days, 

Not  yet  a  steadfast  morn, 

An  intermittent  blaze, 

An  embryo  god  unborn. 

How  all  things  sparkle, 

The  dust  is  alive, 

To  the  birth  they  arrive  : 

I  snuff  the  breath  of  my  morning  afar, 

I  see  the  pale  lustres  condense  to  a  star 

The  fading  colors  fix, 

The  vanishing  are  seen, 

And  the  .world  that  shall  be 

Twins  the  world  that  has  been. 

I  know  the  appointed  hour, 

I  greet  my  office  well, 

Never  faster,  never  slower 

Revolves  the  fatal  wheel ! 


THE  POET. 


299 


The  Fairest  enchants  me, 

The  Mighty  commands  me, 

Saying,  6  Stand  in  thy  place  ; 

Up  and  eastward  turn  thy  face  ; 

As  mountains  for  the  morning  wait, 

Coming  early,  coming  late, 

So  thou  attend  the  enriching  Fate 

Which  none  can  stay,  and  none  accelerate.' 

I  am  neither  faint  nor  weary, 

Fill  thy  will,  O  faultless  heart ! 

Here  from  youth  to  age  I  tarry,  — 

Count  it  flight  of  bird  or  dart. 

My  heart  at  the  heart  of  things 

Heeds  no  longer  lapse  of  time, 

Rushing  ages  moult  their  wings, 

Bathing  in  thy  day  sublime. 

The  sun  set,  but  set  not  his  hope  :  — 
Stars  rose,  his  faith  was  earlier  up  : 
Fixed  on  the  enormous  galaxy, 
Deeper  and  older  seemed  his  eye, 
And  matched  his  sufferance  sublime 
The  taciturnity  of  Time. 

Beside  his  hut  and  shading  oak, 
Thus  to  himself  the  poet  spoke  : 
*  I  have  supped  to-night  with  gods, 
I  will  not  go  under  a  wooden  roof  : 
As  I  walked  among  the  hills 
In  the  love  which  nature  fills, 
The  great  stars  did  not  shine  aloof, 
They  hurried  down  from  their  deep  abodes 
And  hemmed  me  in  their  glittering  troop. 


THE  POET. 


*  Divine  Inviters  !    I  accept 
The  courtesy  ye  have  shown  and  kept 
From  ancient  ages  for  the  bard, 
To  modulate 
With  finer  fate 
A  fortune  harsh  and  hard. 
With  aim  like  yours 
I  watch  your  course, 
Who  never  break  your  lawful  dance 
By  error  or  intemperance. 
O  birds  of  ether  without  wings ! 
O  heavenly  ships  without  a  sail ! 
O  fire  of  fire  !    O  best  of  things  ! 
O  mariners  who  never  fail  ! 
Sail  swiftly  through  your  amber  vault, 
An  animated  law,  a  presence  to  exalt.' 

Ah,  happy  if  a  sun  or  star 
Could  chain  the  wheel  of  Fortune's  car, 
And  give  to  hold  an  even  state, 
Neither  dejected  nor  elate, 
That  haply  man  upraised  might  keep 
The  height  of  Fancy's  far-eyed  steep. 
In  vain  :  the  stars  are  glowing  wheels, 
Giddy  with  motion  Nature  reels, 
Sun,  moon,  man,  undulate  and  stre/m, 
The  mountains  flow,  the  solids  seem, 
Change  acts,  reacts  ;  back,  forward  hurled, 
And  pause  were  palsy  to  the  world.  — 
The  morn  is  come  :  the  starry  crowds 
Are  hid  behind  the  thrice-piled  clouds  ; 
The  new  day  lowers,  and  equal  odds 
Have  changed  not  less  the  guest  of  gods ; 


THE  POET. 


Discrowned  and  timid,  thoughtless,  worn, 
The  child  of  genius  sits  forlorn  : 
Between  two  sleeps  a  short  day's  stealth, 
'Mid  many  ails  a  brittle  health, 
A  cripple  of  God,  half  true,  half  formed, 
And  by  great  sparks  Promethean  warmed, 
Constrained  by  impotence  to  adjourn 
To  infinite  time  his  eager  turn, 
His  lot  of  action  at  the  urn. 
He  by  false  usage  pinned  about 
"No  breath  therein,  no  passage  out, 
Cast  wishful  glances  at  the  stars 
And  wishful  saw  the  Ocean  stream  :  — 
*  Merge  me  in  the  brute  universe, 
Or  lift  to  a  diviner  dream  ! ' 

Beside  him  sat  enduring  love, 

Upon  him  noble  eyes  did  rest, 

Which,  for  the  Genius  that  there  strove, 

The  follies  bore  that  it  invest. 

They  spoke  not,  for  their  earnest  sense 

Outran  the  craft  of  eloquence. 

He  whom  God  had  thus  preferred,  — 
To  whom  sweet  angels  ministered, 
Saluted  him  each  morn  as  brother, 
And  bragged  his  virtues  to  each  other,  — 
Alas  !  how  were  they  so  beguiled, 
And  they  so  pure  ?    He,  foolish  child, 
A  facile,  reckless,  wandering  will, 
Eager  for  good,  not  hating  ill, 
Thanked  Nature  for  each  stroke  she  dealt 
On  his  tense  chords  all  strokes  were  felt, 


THE  POET. 


The  good,  the  bad  with  equal  zeal, 
He  asked,  he  only  asked,  to  feel. 
Timid,  self -pleasing,  sensitive, 
With  Gods,  with  fools,  content  to  live. 
Bended  to  fops  who  bent  to  him  ; 
Surface  with  surfaces  did  swim. 

'  Sorrow,  sorrow  ! '  the  angels  cried, 
*  Is  this  dear  Nature's  manly  pride  ? 
Call  hither  thy  mortal  enemy, 
Make  him  glad  thy  fall  to  see  ! 
Yon  waterflag,  yon  sighing  osier, 
A  drop  can  shake,  a  breath  can  fan  ; 
Maidens  laugh  and  weep  ;  Composure 
Is  the  pudency  of  man.' 

Again  by  night  the  poet  went 
From  the  lighted  halls 
Beneath  the  darkling  firmament 
To  the  seashore,  to  the  old  seawalls, 
Forth  paced  a  star  beneath  the  cloud, 
The  constellation  glittered  soon,  — 
'  You  have  no  lapse  ;  so  have  ye  glowed 
But  once  in  your  dominion. 
And  yet,  dear  stars,  I  know  ye  shine 
Only  by  needs  and  loves  of  mine  ; 
Light-loving,  light-asking  life  in  me 
Feeds  those  eternal  lamps  I  see. 
And  I  to  whom  your  light  has  spoken, 
I,  pining  to  be  one  of  you, 
I  fall,  my  faith  is  broken, 
Ye  scorn  me  from  your  deeps  of  blue. 
Or  if  perchance,  ye  orbs  of  Fate, 


THE  POET. 


Your  ne'er  averted  glance 

Beams  with  a  will  compassionate 

On  sons  of  time  and  chance, 

Then  clothe  these  hands  with  power 

In  just  proportion, 

Nor  plant  immense  designs 

Where  equal  means  are  none.' 

CHORUS  OF  SPIRITS. 

Means,  dear  brother,  —  ask  them  not 
Soul's  desire  is  means  enow, 

Pure  content  is  angel's  lot, 
Thine  own  theatre  art  thou. 

Gentler  far  than  falls  the  snow 
In  the  wood  walks  still  and  low 
Fell  the  lesson  on  his  heart 
And  woke  the  fear  lest  angels  part. 

POET. 

I  see  your  forms  with  deep  content, 
I  know  that  ye  are  excellent, 

But  will  ye  stay  ? 
I  hear  the  rustle  of  wings, 
Ye  meditate  what  to  say 
Ere  ye  go  to  quit  me  forever  and  aye 

SPIRITS. 

Brother,  we  are  no  phantom  baud  ; 
Brother,  accept  this  fatal  hand. 


THE  POET. 


Aches  thine  unbelieving  heart 
With  the  fear  that  we  must  part  ? 
See,  all  we  are  rooted  here 
By  one  thought  to  one  same  sphere  ; 
From  thyself  thou  canst  not  flee,  — 
From  thyself  no  more  can  we. 

POET. 

Suns  and  stars  their  courses  keep, 

But  not  angels  of  the  deep  : 

Day  and  night  their  turn  observe, 

But  the  day  of  day  may  swerve. 

Is  there  warrant  that  the  waves 

Of  thought  in  their  mysterious  caves 

Will  heap  in  me  their  highest  tide, 

In  me  therewith  beatified  ? 

Unsure  the  ebb  and  flood  of  thought, 

The  moon  comes  back,  —  the  Spirit  not. 

SPIRITS. 

Brother,  sweeter  is  the  Law 
Than  all  the  grace  Love  ever  saw  ; 
We  are  its  suppliants.    By  it,  we 
Draw  the  breath  of  Eternity  ; 
Serve  thou  it  not  for  daily  bread,  — 
Serve  it  for  pain  and  fear  and  need. 
Love  it,  though  it  hide  its  light  ; 
By  love  behold  the  sun  at  night. 
If  the  Law  should  thee  forget, 
More  enamored  serve  it  yet  ; 
Though  it  hate  thee,  suffer  long  ; 


THE  POET. 


305 


Put  the  Spirit  in  the  wrong  ; 
Brother,  no  decrepitude 

Chills  the  limbs  of  Time  ; 
As  fleet  his  feet,  his  hands  as  good, 

His  vision  as  sublime  : 
On  Nature's  wheels  there  is  no  rust  ; 
Nor  less  on  man's  enchanted  dust 

Beauty  and  Force  alight. 


FRAGMENTS  ON  THE  POET  AND  THE 
POETIC  GIFT.1 

,   '  i. 

There  are  beggars  in  Iran  and  Araby? 
Said  was  hungrier  than  all  ; 
Hafiz  said  he  was  a  fly 
That  came  to  every  festival. 
He  came  a  pilgrim  to  the  Mosque 
On  trail  of  camel  and  caravan, 
Knew  every  temple  and  kiosk 
Out  from  Mecca  to  Ispahan  ; 
Northward  he  went  to  the  snowy  hills, 
At  court  he  sat  in  the  grave  Divan. 
His  music  was  the  south- wind's  sigh, 
His  lamp,  the  maiden's  downcast  eye, 
And  ever  the  spell  of  beauty  came 
And  turned  the  drowsy  world  to  flame. 
By  lake  and  stream  and  gleaming  hall 
And  modest  copse  and  the  forest  tall, 

1  The  poem  "Beauty,"  the  motto  for  the  Essay  bearing  that  name, 
was  originally  part  of  this  poem. 
20 


THE  POET. 


Where'er  he  went,  the  magic  guide 

Kept  its  place  by  the  poet's  side. 

Said  melted  the  days  like  cups  of  pearl, 

Served  high  and  low,  the  lord  and  the  churla 

Loved  harebells  nodding  on  a  rock, 

A  cabin  hung  with  curling  smoke, 

King  of  axe  or  hum  of  wheel 

Or  gleam  which  use  can  paint  on  steel, 

And  huts  and  tents  ;  nor  loved  he  less 

Stately  lords  in  palaces, 

Princely  women  hard  to  please, 

Fenced  by  form  and  ceremony, 

Decked  by  courtly  rites  and  dress 

And  etiquette  of  gentilesse. 

But  when  the  mate  of  the  snow  and  wind, 

He  left  each  civil  scale  behind  : 

Him  wood-gods  fed  with  honey  wild 

And  of  his  memory  beguiled. 

He  loved  to  watch  and  wake 

When  the  wing  of  the  south- wind  whipt  the  lake 

And  the  glassy  surface  in  ripples  brake 

And  fled  in  pretty  frowns  away 

Like  the  flitting  boreal  lights, 

Rippling  roses  in  northern  nights, 

Or  like  the  thrill  of  ^Eolian  strings 

In  which  the  sudden  wind-god  rings. 

In  caves  and  hollow  trees  he  crept 

And  near  the  wolf  and  panther  slept. 

He  came  to  the  green  ocean's  brim 

And  saw  the  wheeling  sea-birds  skim. 

Summer  and  winter,  o'er  the  wave, 

Like  creatures  of  a  skiey  mould, 

Impassible  to  heat  or  cold. 


THE  POET. 


307 


He  stood  before  the  tumbling  main 
With  joy  too  tense  for  sober  brain  ; 
He  shared  the  life  of  the  element, 
The  tie  of  blood  and  home  was  rent : 
As  if  in  him  the  welkin  walked, 
The  winds  took  flesh,  the  mountains  talked, 
And  he  the  bard,  a  crystal  soul 
Sphered  and  concentric  with  the  whole. 

ii. 

The  Dervish  whined  to  Said, 
"  Thou  didst  not  tarry  while  I  prayed. 

Beware  the  fire  which  Eblis  burned," 

But  Saadi  coldly  thus  returned, 
"  Once  with  manlike  love  and  fear 

I  gave  thee  for  an  hour  my  ear, 

I  kept  the  sun  and  stars  at  bay, 

And  love,  for  words  thy  tongue  could  say* 

I  cannot  sell  my  heaven  again 

For  all  that  rattles  in  thy  brain." 

in. 

Said  Saadi,  "  When  I  stood  before 
Hassan  the  camel-driver's  door, 
I  scorned  the  fame  of  Timour  brave  ; 
Timour,  to  Hassan,  was  a  slave. 
In  every  glance  of  Hassan's  eye 
I  read  great  years  of  victory, 
And  I,  who  cower  mean  and  small 
In  the  frequent  interval 
When  wisdom  not  with  me  resides, 


THE  POET. 


Worship  Toil's  wisdom  that  abides. 
I  shunned  his  eyes,  that  faithful  man's, 
I  shunned  the  toiling  Hassan's  glauce." 

IV. 

The  civil  world  will  much  forgive 

To  bards  who  from  its  maxims  live, 

But  if,  grown  bold,  the  poet  dare 

Bend  his  practice  to  his  prayer 

And  following  his  mighty  heart 

Shame  the  times  and  live  apart,  — 

Vce  solis  !    I  found  this, 

That  of  goods  I  could  not  miss 

If  I  fell  within  the  line, 

Once  a  member,  all  was  mine, 

Houses,  banquets,  gardens,  fountains, 

Fortune's  delectable  mountains  ; 

But  if  I  would  walk  alone, 

Was  neither  cloak  nor  crumb  my  own. 

And  thus  the  high  Muse  treated  me, 

Directly  never  greeted  me, 

But  when  she  spread  her  dearest  spells, 

Feigned  to  speak  to  some  one  else. 

I  was  free  to  overhear, 

Or  I  might  at  will  forbear  ; 

Yet  mark  me  well,  that  idle  word 

Thus  at  random  overheard 

Was  the  symphony  of  spheres, 

And  proverb  of  a  thousand  years, 

The  light  wherewith  all  planets  shone, 

The  livery  all  events  put  on, 

It  fell  in  rain,  it  grew  in  grain, 


THE  POET. 


309 


It  put  on  flesh  in  friendly  form, 

Frowned  in  my  foe  and  growled  in  storm, 

It  spoke  in  Tullius  Cicero, 

In  Milton  and  in  Angelo  : 

I  travelled  and  found  it  at  Rome  ; 

Eastward  it  filled  all  Heathendom 

And  it  lay  on  my  hearth  when  I  came  home. 

v. 

Mask  thy  wisdom  with  delight, 
Toy  with  the  bow,  yet  hit  the  white, 
As  Jelaleddin  old  and  gray  ; 
He  seemed  to  bask,  to  dream  and  play 
Without  remoter  hope  or  fear 
Than  still  to  entertain  his  ear 
And  pass  the  burning  summer-time 
In  the  palm-grove  with  a  rhyme  ; 
Heedless  that  each  cunning  word 
Tribes  and  ages  overheard  : 
Those  idle  catches  told  the  laws 
Holding  Nature  to  her  cause. 

God  only  knew  how  Saadi  dined  ; 
Roses  he  ate,  and  drank  the  wind  ; 
He  freelier  breathed  beside  the  pine, 
In  cities  he  was  low  and  mean  ; 
The  mountain  waters  washed  him  clean 
And  by  the  sea-waves  he  was  strong  ; 
He  heard  their  medicinal  song, 
Asked  no  physician  but  the  wave, 
No  palace  but  his  sea-beat  cave. 


310 


THE  POET. 


Saadi  held  the  Muse  in  awe, 
She  was  his  mistress  and  his  law  ; 
A  twelvemonth  he  could  silence  hold, 
Xor  ran  to  speak  till  she  him  told  ; 
He  felt  the  flame,  the  fanning  wings, 
Xor  offered  words  till  they  were  things, 
Glad  when  the  solid  mountain  swims 
In  music  and  uplifting  hymns. 

Charmed  from  fagot  and  from  steel, 
Harvests  grew  upon  his  tongue, 
Past  and  future  mast  reveal 
All  their  heart  when  Saadi  sung  ; 
Sun  and  moon  must  fall  amain 
Like  sowers  seeds  into  his  brain. 
There  quickened  to  be  born  again. 


The  free  winds  told  him  what  they  knew, 
Discoursed  of  fortune  as  they  blew  ; 
Omens  and  signs  that  filled  the  air- 
To  him  authentic  witness  bare  ; 
The  birds  brought  auguries  on  their  wings, 
And  carolled  undeceiving  things 
Him  to  beckon,  him  to  warn  ; 
Well  might  then  the  poet  scorn 
To  learn  of  scribe  or  courier 
Things  writ  in  vaster  character  ; 
And  on  his  mind  at  dawn  of  clay 
Soft  shadows  of  the  evening  lay. 


THE  POET. 


Pale  genius  roves  alone, 
No  scout  can  track  his  way, 
None  credits  him  till  he  have  shown 
His  diamonds  to  the  day. 

Not  his  the  feaster's  wine, 
Nor  land,  nor  gold,  nor  power, 
By  want  and  pain  God  screeneth  him 
Till  his  elected  hour. 

Go,  speed  the  stars  of  thought 
On  to  their  shining  goals  :  — 
The  sower  scatters  broad  his  seed, 
The  wheat  thou  strew'st  be  souls. 


A  dull  uncertain  brain, 

But  gifted  yet  to  know 

That  God  has  cherubim  who  go 

Singing  an  immortal  strain, 

Immortal  here  below. 

I  know  the  mighty  bards, 

I  listen  when  they  sing, 

And  now  I  know 

The  secret  store 

Which  these  explore 

When  they  with  torch  of  genius  pierce 

The  tenfold  clouds  that  cover 
The  riches  of  the  universe 

From  God's  adoring  lover. 
And  if  to  me  it  is  not  given 

To  fetch  one  ingot  thence 


312 


THE  POET. 


Of  that  unfading  gold  of  Heaven 

His  merchants  may  dispense, 
Yet  well  I  know  the  royal  mine, 

And  know  the  sparkle  of  its  ore. 
Know  Heaven's  truth  from  lies  that  shine,  — 

Explored  they  teach  us  to  explore. 

1831. 


I  grieve  that  better  souls  than  mine 
Docile  read  my  measured  line  : 
High  destined  youths  and  holy  maids 
Hallow  these  my  orchard  shades  ; 
Environ  me  and  me  baptize 
With  light  that  streams  from  gracious  eyes. 
I  dare  not  be  beloved  and  known, 
I  ungrateful,  I  alone. 

Ever  find  me  dim  regards, 

Love  of  ladies,  love  of  bards, 

Marked  forbearance,  compliments, 

Tokens  of  benevolence. 

What  then,  can  I  love  myself  ? 

Fame  is  profitless  as  pelf, 

A  good  in  Nature  not  allowed 

They  love  me,  as  I  love  a  cloud 

Sailing  falsely  in  the  sphere, 

Hated  mist  if  it  come  near. 


For  thought,  and  not  praise  ; 
Thought  is  the  wages 


THE  POET. 


313 


For  which  I  sell  days, 

Will  gladly  sell  ages 

And  willing  grow  old 

Deaf  and  dumb  and  blind  and  cold, 

Melting  matter  into  dreams, 

Panoramas  which  I  saw 

And  whatever  glows  or  seems 

Into  substance,  into  Law. 


Try  the  might  the  Muse  affords 
And  the  balm  of  thoughtful  words 
Bring  music  to  the  desolate  ; 
Hang  roses  on  the  stony  fate. 


For  Fancy's  gift 

Can  mountains  lift  ; 

The  Muse  can  knit 

What  is  past,  what  is  done, 

With  the  web  that 's  just  begun  ; 

Making  free  with  time  and  size, 

Dwindles  here,  there  magnifies, 

Swells  a  rain-drop  to  a  tun  ; 

So  to  repeat 

No  word  or  feat 

Crowds  in  a  day  the  sum  of  ages, 

And  blushing  Love  outwits  the  sages. 


314 


THE  POET. 


But  over  all  his  crowning  grace, 

Wherefor  thanks  God  his  daily  praise, 

Is  the  purging  of  his  eye 

To  see  the  people  of  the  sky  : 

From  blue  mount  and  headland  dim 

Friendly  hands  stretch  forth  to  him, 

Him  they  beckon,  him  advise 

Of  heavenlier  prosperities 

And  a  more  excelling  grace 

And  a  truer  bosom-glow 

Than  the  wine-fed  feasters  know. 

They  turn  his  heart  from  lovely  maids, 

And  make  the  darlings  of  the  earth 

Swainish,  coarse  and  nothing  worth  : 

Teach  him  gladly  to  postpone 

Pleasures  to  another  stage 

Beyond  the  scope  of  human  age, 

Freely  as  task  at  eve  undone 

Waits  unblamed  to-morrow's  sun. 


Let  me  go  where'er  I  will 

I  hear  a  sky-born  music  still  : 

It  sounds  from  all  things  old, 

It  sounds  from  all  things  young, 

From  all  that 's  fair,  from  all  that 's  foul, 

Peals  out  a  cheerful  song. 

It  is  not  only  in  the  rose, 

It  is  not  only  in  the  bird, 

Not  only  where  the  rainbow  glows, 

Nor  in  the  song  of  woman  heard, 

But  in  the  darkest,  meanest  things 


THE  POET. 


315 


There  alway,  alway  something  sings. 
'T  is  not  in  the  high  stars  alone, 
Nor  in  the  cups  of  budding  flowers, 
Nor  in  the  redbreast's  mellow  tone, 
Nor  in  the  bow  that  smiles  in  showers, 
But  in  the  mud  and  scum  of  things 
There  alway,  alway  something  sings. 


By  thoughts  I  lead 

Bards  to  say  what  nations  need  ; 

What  imports,  what  irks  and  what  behooves, 

Framed  afar  as  Fates  and  Loves. 

Those  who  lived  with  him  became 

Poets,  for  the  air  was  fame. 


Shun  passion,  fold  the  hands  of  thrift, 
Sit  still  and  Truth  is  near  : 

Suddenly  it  will  uplift 

Your  eyelids  to  the  sphere  : 

Wait  a  little,  you  shall  see 

The  portraiture  of  things  to  be. 


The  rules  to  men  made  evident 
By  Him  who  built  the  day, 

The  columns  of  the  firmament 
Not  firmer  based  than  they. 


316 


\ 

THE  POET. 


I  framed  his  tongue  to  music, 
I  armed  his  hand  with  skill, 

I  moulded  his  face  to  beauty 

And  his  heart  the  throne  of  Will. 


For  every  God 

Obeys  the  hymn,  obeys  the  ode. 


For  art,  for  music  over-thrilled, 

The  wine-cup  shakes,  the  wine  is  spilled. 


Hold  of  the  Maker,  not  the  Made  ; 
Sit  with  the  Cause,  or  grim  or  glad. 


That  book  is  good 
Which  puts  me  in  a  working  mood. 
Unless  to  Thought  is  added  Will, 
Apollo  is  an  imbecile. 

What  parts,  what  gems,  what  colors  shine,  — 
Ah,  but  I  miss  the  grand  design. 


Like  vaulters  in  a  circus  round 

Who  leap  from  horse  to  horse,  but  never  touch  the 
ground. 


THE  POET. 


317 


For  Genius  made  his  cabin  wide, 
And  Love  led  Gods  therein  to  bide. 


The  atom  displaces  all  atoms  beside, 
And  Genius  unspheres  all  souls  that  abide. 


To  transmute  crime  to  wisdom,  so  to  stem 
The  vice  of  Japhet  by  the  thought  of  Shem. 


Forebore  the  ant-hill,  shunned  to  tread, 
In  mercy,  on  one  little  head. 


I  have  no  brothers  and  no  peers, 
And  the  dearest  interferes  : 
When  I  would  spend  a  lonely  day, 
Sun  and  moon  are  in  my  way. 


The  brook  sings  on,  but  sings  in  vain 
Wanting  the  echo  in  my  brain. 


318 


THE  POET. 


On  bravely  through  the  sunshine  and  the  showers  ! 
Time  hath  his  work  to  do  and  we  have  ours. 


He  planted  where  the  deluge  ploughed, 
His  hired  hands  were  wind  and  cloud  ; 
His  eyes  detect  the  Gods  concealed 
In  the  hummock  of  the  field. 


For  what  need  I  of  book  or  priest, 
Or  sibyl  from  the  mummied  East, 
When  every  star  is  Bethlehem  star  ? 
I  count  as  many  as  there  are 
Cinquefoils  or  violets  in  the  grass, 
So  many  saints  and  saviours, 
So  many  high  behaviors, 
Salute  the  bard  who  is  alive 
And  only  sees  what  he  doth  give. 


Thou  shalt  not  try 

To  plant  thy  shrivelled  pedantry 

On  the  shoulders  of  the  sky. 


Ah,  not  to  me  those  dreams  belong  ! 
A  better  voice  peals  through  my  song. 


THE  POET. 


Teach  me  your  mood,  O  patient  stars  ! 

Who  climb  each  night  the  ancient  sky, 
Leaving  on  space  no  shade,  no  scars, 

No  trace  of  age,  no  fear  to  die. 


The  Muse's  hill  by  Fear  is  guarded^ 
A  bolder  foot  is  still  rewarded. 


His  instant  thought  a  poet  spoke, 
And  filled  the  age  his  fame  ; 

An  inch  of  ground  the  lightning  strook 
But  lit  the  sky  with  flame. 


If  bright  the  sun,  he  tarries, 
All  day  his  song  is  heard  ; 

And  when  he  goes  he  carries 
No  more  baggage  than  a  bird. 


The  Asmodean  feat  is  mine, 
To  spin  my  sand-heap  into  twine. 


Slighted  Minerva's  learned  tongue, 
But  leaped  with  joy  when  on  the  wind 
The  shell  of  Clio  rung. 


320 


THE  POET. 


Best  boon  of  life  is  presence  of  a  Muse 
That  does  not  wish  to  wander,  comes  by  stealth, 
Divulging  to  the  heart  she  sets  on  flame 
"No  popular  tale  or  toy,  no  cheap  renown. 
When  the  wings  grow  that  draw  the  gazing  eye 
Oft-times  poor  Genius  fluttering  near  the  earth 
Is  wrecked  upon  the  turrets  of  the  town  ; 
But  lifted  till  he  meets  the  steadfast  gales 
Calm  blowing  from  the  everlasting  West 


FRAGMENTS  ON  NATURE  AND  LIFE. 


NATURE. 

The  patient  Pan, 

Drunken  with  nectar, 

Sleeps  or  feigns  slumber, 

Drowsily  humming 

Music  to  the  march  of  time. 

This  poor  tooting,  creaking  cricket, 

Pan,  half  asleep,  rolling  over 

His  great  body  in  the  grass, 

Tooting,  creaking, 

Feigns  to  sleep,  sleeping  never  ; 

5T  is  his  manner, 

Well  he  knows  his  own  affair, 

Piling  mountain  chains  of  phlegm 

On  the  nervous  brain  of  man, 

As  he  holds  down  central  fires 

Under  Alps  and  Andes  cold  ; 

Haply  else  we  could  not  live, 

Life  would  be  too  wild  an  ode. 


For  Nature,  true  and  like  in  every  place, 
Will  hint  her  secret  in  a  garden  patch, 
Or  in  lone  corners  of  a  doleful  heath, 
As  in  the  Andes  watched  by  fleets  at  sea, 
21  (321) 


322 


NATURE. 


Or  the  sky-piercing  horns  of  Himmaleh  ; 
And,  when  I  would  recall  the  scenes  I  dreamed 
On  Adirondac  steeps,  I  know 
Small  need  have  I  of  Turner  or  Daguerre, 
Assured  to  find  the  token  once  again 
In  silver  lakes  that  unexhausted  gleam 
^And  peaceful  woods  beside  my  cottage  door. 


What  all  the  books  of  ages  paint,  I  have. 

What  prayers  and  dreams  of  youthful  genius  feign, 

I  daily  dwell  in,  and  am  not  so  blind 

But  I  can  see  the  elastic  tent  of  day 

Belike  has  wider  hospitality 

Than  my  few  needs  exhaust,  and  bids  me  read 

The  quaint  devices  on  its  mornings  gay. 

Yet  Nature  will  not  be  in  full  possessed, 

And  they  who  truliest  love  her,  heralds  are 

And  harbingers  of  a  majestic  race, 

Who,  having  more  absorbed,  more  largely  yield, 

And  walk  on  earth  as  the  sun  walks  in  the  sphere. 


But  never  yet  the  man  was  found 

Who  could  the  mystery  expound, 

Though  Adam,  born  when  oaks  were  young, 

Endured,  the  Bible  says,  as  long  ; 

But  when  at  last  the  patriarch  died 

The  Gordian  noose  was  still  untied. 

He  left,  though  goodly  centuries  old, 

Meek  Nature's  secret  still  untold. 


NATURE. 


323 


Atom  from  atom  yawns  as  far 

As  moon  from  earth,  or  star  from  star. 


The  sun  athwart  the  cloud  thought  it  no  sin 
To  use  my  land  to  put  his  rainbows  in. 


For  joy  and  beauty  planted  it, 
With  faerie  gardens  cheered, 

And  boding  Fancy  haunted  it 
With  men  and  women  weird. 


What  central  flowing  forces,  say, 
Make  up  thy  splendor,  matchless  day  ? 


Day  by  day  for  her  darlings  to  her  much  she  added 

more  ; 

In  her  hundred  -  gated  Thebes  every  chamber  was  a 
door, 

A  door  to  something  grander,  —  loftier  walls,  and  vaster 
floor. 


NATURE. 


Samson  stark  at  Dagon's  knee, 
Gropes  for  columns  strong  as  he  ; 
When  his  ringlets  grew  and  curled, 
Groped  for  axle  of  the  world. 


She  paints  with  white  and  red  the  moors 
To  draw  the  nations  out  of  doors. 


A  score  of  airy  miles  will  smooth 
Rough  Monadnoc  to  a  gem. 


The  mountain  utters  the  same  sense, 
Unchanged  in  its  intelligence, 
For  ages  sheds  its  walnut  leaves, 
One  joy  it  joys,  one  grief  it  grieves. 

THE  EARTH. 

Our  eyeless  bark  sails  free 
Though  with  boom  and  spar 

Andes,  Alp  or  Himmalee, 
Strikes  never  moon  or  star. 


See  yonder  leafless  trees  against  the  sky, 
How  they  diffuse  themselves  into  the  air, 


NATURE. 


325 


And,  ever  subdividing,  separate 
Limbs  into  branches,  branches  into  twigs, 
As  if  they  loved  the  element,  and  hasted 
To  dissipate  their  being  into  it. 


Parks  and  ponds  are  good  by  day  ; 

I  do  not  delight 

In  black  acres  of  the  night, 

Nor  my  unseasoned  step  disturbs 

The  sleeps  of  trees  or  dreams  of  herbs. 


The  low  December  vault  in  June  be  lifted  high, 
And  largest  clouds  be  flakes  of  down  in  that  enormous 
sky. 


Solar  insect  on  the  wing 
In  the  garden  murmuring, 
Soothing  with  thy  summer  horn 
Swains  by  winter  pinched  and  worn. 

BIRDS. 

Darlings  of  children  and  of  bard, 
Perfect  kinds  by  vice  unmarred, 
All  of  worth  and  beauty  set 
Gems  in  Nature's  cabinet ; 
These  the  fables  she  esteems 
Reality  most  like  to  dreams. 


NATURE. 


Welcome  back,  you  little  nations, 
Far-travelled  in  the  south  plantations  ; 
Bring  your  music  and  rhythmic  flight, 
Your  colors  for  our  eyes'  delight : 
Freely  nestle  in  our  roof, 
Weave  your  chamber  weatherproof  ; 
And  your  enchanting  manners  bring 
And  your  autumnal  gathering. 
Exchange  in  conclave  general 
Greetings  kind  to  each  and  all, 
Conscious  each  of  duty  done 
And  unstained  as  the  sun. 

WATER. 

The  water  understands 

Civilization  well  ; 

It  wets  my  foot,  but  prettily 

It  chills  my  life,  but  wittily, 

It  is  not  disconcerted, 

It  is  not  broken-hearted  : 

Well  used,  it  decketh  joy, 

Adorneth,  double th  joy  : 

111  used,  it  will  destroy, 

In  perfect  time  and  measure 

With  a  face  of  golden  pleasure 

Elegantly  destroy. 


All  day  the  waves  assailed  the  rock, 
I  heard  no  church-bell  chime, 

The  sea-beat  scorns  the  minster  clock 
And  breaks  the  glass  of  Time. 


NATURE. 


327 


SUNRISE. 

Would  you  know  what  joy  is  hid 

In  our  green  Musketaquid, 

And  for  travelled  eyes  what  charms 

Draw  us  to  these  meadow  farms, 

Come  and  I  will  show  you  all 

Makes  each  day  a  festival. 

Stand  upon  this  pasture  hill, 

Face  the  eastern  star  until 

The  slow  eye  of  heaven  shall  show 

The  world  above,  the  world  below. 

Behold  the  miracle  ! 

Thou  sawst  but  now  the  twilight  sad 

And  stood  beneath  the  firmament, 

A  watchman  in  a  dark  gray  tent, 

Waiting  till  God  create  the  earth,  — ■ 

Behold  the  new  majestic  birth  ! 

The  mottled  clouds,  like  scraps  of  wool, 

Steeped  in  the  light  are  beautiful. 

What  majestic  stillness  broods 

Over  these  colored  solitudes. 

Sleeps  the  vast  East  in  pleased  peace, 

Up  the  far  mountain  walls  the  streams  increase 

Inundating  the  heaven 

With  spouting  streams  and  waves  of  light 

Which  round  the  floating  isles  unite  :  — 

See  the  world  below 

Baptized  with  the  pure  element, 

A  clear  and  glorious  firmament 

Touched  with  life  by  every  beam. 

I  share  the  good  with  every  flower, 

I  drink  the  nectar  of  the  hour  :  — 


328 


NATURE. 


This  is  not  the  ancient  earth 
Whereof  old  chronicles  relate 
The  tragic  tales  of  crime  and  fate  ; 
But  rather,  like  its  beads  of  dew 
And  dew-bent  violets,  fresh  and  new, 
An  exhalation  of  the  time. 

****** 


He  lives  not  who  can  refuse  me  ; 
All  my  force  saith,  Come  and  use  me  : 
A  gleam  of  sun,  a  little  rain, 
And  all  is  green  again. 


Seems,  though  the  soft  sheen  all  enchants, 
Cheers  the  rough  crag  and  mournful  dell, 
As  if  on  such  stern  forms  and  haunts 
A  wintry  storm  more  fitly  fell. 


Illusions  like  the  tints  of  pearl, 
Or  changing  colors  of  the  sky, 

Or  ribbons  of  a  dancing  girl 

That  mend  her  beauty  to  the  eye. 


The  cold  gray  down  upon  the  quinces  lieth 
And  the  poor  spinners  weave  their  webs  thereon 
To  share  the  sunshine  that  so  spicy  is. 


LIFE. 


329 


Put  in,  drive  home  the  sightless  wedges 
And  split  to  flakes  the  crystal  ledges. 

CIRCLES. 

Nature  centres  into  balls,, 
And  her  proud  ephemerals, 
Fast  to  surface  and  outside, 
Scan  the  profile  of  the  sphere  ; 
Knew  they  what  that  signified^ 
A  new  genesis  were  here. 


But  Nature  whistled  with  all  her  winds, 
Did  as  she  pleased  and  went  her  way. 


LIFE. 

A  train  of  gay  and  clouded  days 
Dappled  with  joy  and  grief  and  praise, 
Beauty  to  fire  us,  saints  to  save, 
Escort  us  to  a  little  grave. 


No  fate,  save  by  the  victim's  fault,  is  low, 
For  God  hath  writ  all  dooms  magnificent, 
So  guilt  not  traverses  his  tender  will. 


330 


LIFE. 


Around  the  man  who  seeks  a  noble  end, 
Not  angels  but  divinities  attend. 


From  high  to  higher  forces 
The  scale  of  power  uprears, 

The  heroes  on  their  horses, 
The  gods  upon  their  spheres. 


This  passing  moment  is  an  edifice 
Which  the  Omnipotent  cannot  rebuild. 


Roomy  Eternity 

Casts  her  schemes  rarely, 

And  an  aeon  allows 

For  each  quality  and  part 

Of  the  multitudinous 

And  many-chambered  heart. 


The  beggar  begs  by  God's  command, 
And  gifts  awake  when  givers  sleep, 

Swords  cannot  cut  the  giving  hand 
Nor  stab  the  love  that  orphans  keep. 


LIFE. 


331 


Easy  to  match  what  others  do, 

Perform  the  feat  as  well  as  they  ; 

Hard  to  out-do  the  brave,  the  true, 

And  find  a  loftier  way  : 

The  school  decays,  the  learning  spoils 

Because  of  the  sons  of  wine  ; 

How  snatch  the  stripling  from  their  toils  ?  — 

Yet  can  one  ray  of  truth  divine 

The  blaze  of  reveller's  feasts  outshine. 


In  the  chamber,  on  the  stairs, 

Lurking  dumb, 

Go  and  come 
Lemurs  and  Lars. 


Of  all  wit's  uses  the  main  one 
Is  to  live  well  with  who  has  none. 


The  tongue  is  prone  to  lose  the  way, 
Not  so  the  pen,  for  in  a  letter 

We  have  not  better  things  to  say, 
But  surely  say  them  better. 


332 


LIFE. 


She  walked  in  flowers  around  my  field 
As  June  herself  around  the  sphere. 


Such  another  peerless  queen 
Only  could  her  mirror  show. 


I  bear  in  youth  the  sad  infirmities 
That  use  to  undo  the  limb  and  sense  of  age  ; 
It  hath  pleased  Heaven  to  break  the  dream  of  bliss 
Which  lit  my  onward  way  with  bright  presage, 
And  my  unserviceable  limbs  forego 
The  sweet  delight  I  found  in  fields  and  farms, 
On  windy  hills,  whose  tops  with  morning  glow, 
And  lakes,  smooth  mirrors  of  Aurora's  charms. 
Yet  I  think  on  them  in  the  silent  night, 
Still  breaks  that  morn,  though  dim,  to  Memory's  eye, 
And  the  firm  soul  does  the  pale  train  defy 
Of  grim  Disease,  that  would  her  peace  affright. 
Please  God,  1 11  wrap  me  in  mine  innocence 
And  bid  each  awful  Muse  drive  the  damned  harpies 
hence. 
Cambridge,  1827. 


Be  of  good  cheer,  brave  spirit  ;  steadfastly 

Serve  that  low  whisper  thou  hast  served  ;  for  know, 

God  hath  a  select  family  of  sons 

Now  scattered  wide  thro'  earth,  and  each  alone, 

Who  are  thy  spiritual  kindred,  and  each  one 


LIFE. 


By  constant  service  to  that  inward  law, 

Is  weaving  the  sublime  proportions 

Of  a  true  monarch's  soul.    Beauty  and  strength, 

The  riches  of  a  spotless  memory, 

The  eloquence  of  truth,  the  wisdom  got 

By  searching  of  a  clear  and  loving  eye 

That  seeth  as  God  seeth.    These  are  their  gifts, 

And  Time,  who  keeps  God's  word,  brings  on  the 

To  seal  the  marriage  of  these  minds  with  thine, 

Thine  everlasting  lovers.    Ye  shall  be 

The  salt  of  all  the  elements,  world  of  the  world. 


Friends  to  me  are  frozen  wine  ; 
I  wait  the  sun  on  them  should  shine. 


Day  by  day  returns 

The  everlasting  sun, 
Replenishing  material  urns 

With  God's  unspared  donation  ; 
But  the  day  of  day, 

The  orb  within  the  mind, 
Creating  fair  and  good  alway, 

Shines  not  as  once  it  shinecf. 

Vast  the  realm  of  Being  is, 
In  the  waste  one  nook  is  his  ; 


334 


LIFE. 


Whatsoever  hap  befalls 
In  his  vision's  narrow  walls 
He  is  here  to  testify. 

1831. 


Leave  me,  Fear,  thy  throbs  are  base, 

Trembling  for  the  body's  sake  : 
Come,  Love  !  who  dost  the  spirit  raise 

Because  for  others  thou  dost  wake. 

O  it  is  beautiful  in  death 
To  hide  the  shame  of  human  nature's  end 
In  sweet  and  wary  serving  of  a  friend. 
Love  is  true  glory's  field  where  the  last  breath 

Expires  in  troops  of  honorable  cares. 
The  wound  of  Fate  the  hero  cannot  feel 
Smit  with  the  heavenlier  smart  of  social  zeal. 

It  draws  immortal  day 

In  soot  and  ashes  of  our  clay, 
It  is  the  virtue  that  enchants  it, 
It  is  the  face  of  God  that  haunts  it. 

1831. 


Has  God  on  thee  conferred 

A  bodily  presence  mean  as  Paul's, 

Yet  made  thee  bearer  of  a  word 

Which  sleepy  nations  as  with  trumpet  calls  ? 

O  noble  heart,  accept 
With  equal  thanks  the  talent  and  disgrace  ; 

The  marble  town  unwept 
Nourish  thy  virtue  in  a  private  place. 


LIFE. 


Think  not  that  unattended 
By  heavenly  powers  thou  steal'st  to  Solitude, 
Nor  yet  on  earth  all  unbefriended. 

****** 
1831. 


You  shall  not  love  me  for  what  daily  spends ; 
You  shall  not  know  me  in  the  noisy  street, 
Where  I,  as  others,  follow  petty  ends  ; 
Nor  when  in  fair  saloons  we  chance  to  meet  ; 
Nor  when  I 'm  jaded,  sick,  anxious,  or  mean. 
But  love  me  then  and  only,  when  you  know 
Me  for  the  channel  of  the  rivers  of  God 
From  deep  ideal  f  ontal  heavens  that  flow. 


To  and  fro  the  Genius  flies, 
A  light  which  plays  and  hovers 
Over  the  maiden's  head 
And  dips  sometimes  as  low  as  to  her  eyes. 
Of  her  faults  I  take  no  note, 

Fault  and  folly  are  not  mine  ; 
Comes  the  Genius,  —  all 's  forgot, 
Beplunged  again  into  that  upper  sphere 
He  scatters  wide  and  wild  its  lustres  here. 


Love 

Asks  nought  his  brother  cannot  give  ; 
Asks  nothing,  but  does  all  receive. 
Love  calls  not  to  his  aid  events  ; 


LIFE. 


He  to  his  wants  can  well  suffice  : 
Asks  not  of  others  soft  consents, 
Nor  kind  occasion  without  eyes  ; 
Nor  plots  to  ope  or  bolt  a  gate, 
Nor  heeds  Condition's  iron  walls,  — 
Where  he  goes,  goes  before  him  Fate  ; 
Whom  he  uniteth,  God  installs  ; 
Instant  and  perfect  his  access 
To  the  dear  object  of  his  thought, 
Though  foes  and  land  and  seas  between 
Himself  and  his  love  intervene. 


Go  if  thou  wilt,  ambrosial  flower, 

Go  match  thee  with  thy  seeming  peers 

I  will  wait  Heaven's  perfect  hour 
Through  the  innumerable  years. 


Tell  men  what  they  knew  before  ; 
Paint  the  prospect  from  their  door. 


Him  strong  Genius  urged  to  roam, 
Stronger  Custom  brought  him  home. 


Thou  shalt  make  thy  house 
The  temple  of  a  nation's  vows. 


LIFE. 


Spirits  of  a  higher  strain 

Who  sought  thee  once  shall  seek  again. 

I  detected  many  a  god 

Forth  already  on  the  road, 

Ancestors  of  beauty  come 

In  thy  breast  to  make  a  home. 


As  the  drop  feeds  its  fated  flower, 

As  finds  its  Alp  the  snowy  shower, 

Child  of  the  omnific  Need, 

Hurled  into  life  to  do  a  deed, 

Man  drinks  the  water,  drinks  the  light. 


Ever  the  Rock  of  Ages  melts, 

Into  the  mineral  air, 
To  be  the  quarry  whence  to  build 

Thought  and  its  mansions  fair. 


Yes,  sometimes  to  the  sorrow-stricken 
Shall  his  own  sorrow  seem  impertinent, 
A  thing  that  takes  no  more  root  in  the  world 
Than  doth  the  traveller's  shadow  on  the  rock. 


The  archangel  Hope 
Looks  to  the  azure  cope, 
22 


LIFE. 


Waits  through  dark  ages  for  the  mora, 
Defeated  day  by  day,  but  unto  victory  born. 


But  if  thou  do  thy  best, 

Without  remission,  without  rest, 

And  invite  the  sunbeam, 

And  abhor  to  feign  or  seem 

Even  to  those  who  thee  should  love 

And  thy  behavior  approve  ; 

If  thou  go  in  thine  own  likeness, 

Be  it  health,  or  be  it  sickness  ; 

If  thou  go  as  thy  father's  son, 

If  thou  wear  no  mask  or  lie, 

Dealing  purely  and  nakedly,  — 


From  the  stores  of  eldest  matter, 
The  deep-eyed  flame,  obedient  water, 
Transparent  air,  all-feeding  earth, 
He  took  the  flower  of  all  their  worth, 
And,  best  with  best  in  sweet  consent, 
Combined  a  new  temperament. 


Ascending  thorough  just  degrees 
To  a  consummate  holiness, 
As  angel  blind  to  trespass  done, 
And  bleaching  all  souls  like  the  sun. 


LIFE. 


339 


The  bard  and  mystic  held  me  for  their  own, 
I  filled  the  dream  of  sad,  poetic  maids, 
I  took  the  friendly  noble  by  the  hand, 
I  was  the  trustee  of  the  hand-cart  man, 
The  brother  of  the  fisher,  porter,  swain, 
And  these  from  the  crowd's  edge  well  pleased  be- 
held 

The  service  done  to  me  as  done  to  them. 


With  the  key  of  the  secret  he  marches  faster, 

From  strength  to  strength,  and  for  night  brings  day  ; 

While  classes  or  tribes,  too  weak  to  master 
The  flowing  conditions  of  life,  give  way. 


Oh  what  is  Heaven  but  the  fellowship 

Of  minds  that  each  can  stand  against  the  world 

By  its  own  meek  and  incorruptible  will  ? 


That  each  should  in  his  house  abide, 
Therefore  was  the  world  so  wide. 


If  curses  be  the  wage  of  love, 

Hide  in  thy  skies,  thou  fruitless  Jove, 


340 


LIFE. 


Not  to  be  named  : 
It  is  clear 
Why  the  gods  will  not  appear  ; 
They  are  ashamed. 


When  wrath  and  terror  changed  Jove's  regal  port, 
And  the  rash-leaping  thunderbolt  fell  short. 


THE  BOHEMIAN  HYMN. 


In  many  forms  we  try 

To  utter  God's  infinity, 

But  the  Boundless  hath  no  form, 

And  the  Universal  Friend 

Doth  as  far  transcend 

An  angel  as  a  worm. 

The  great  Idea  baffles  wit, 
Language  falters  under  it, 
It  leaves  the  learned  in  the  lurch  ; 
Nor  art,  nor  power,  nor  toil  can  find 
The  measure  of  the  eternal  Mind, 
Nor  hymn,  nor  prayer,  nor  church. 
(341) 


PRAYER. 

When  success  exalts  thy  lot 
God  for  thy  virtue  lays  a  plot. 
And  all  thy  life  is  for  thy  own, 
Then  for  mankind's  instruction  shown  ; 
And  though  thy  knees  were  never  bent, 
To  Heaven  thy  hourly  prayers  are  sent, 
And  whether  formed  for  good  or  ill 
Are  registered  and  answered  still. 
(342) 


GRACE. 

How  much,  preventing  God,  how  much  I  owe 
To  the  defences  thou  hast  round  me  set  ; 
Example,  custom,  fear,  occasion  slow,  — 
These  scorned  bondmen  were  my  parapet. 
I  dare  not  peep  over  this  parapet 
To  gauge  with  glance  the  roaring  gulf  below. 
The  depths  of  sin  to  which  I  had  descended, 
Had  not  these  me  against  myself  defended. 
(343) 


EROS. 


They  put  their  finger  on  their  lip, 

The  Powers  above  : 
The  seas  their  islands  clip, 
The  moons  in  ocean  dip, 
They  love,  but  name  not  love. 
(344) 


WRITTEN  IN  NAPLES,  MARCH,  1833. 


We  are  what  we  are  made  ;  each  following  day 
Is  the  Creator  of  our  human  mould 
Not  less  than  was  the  first ;  the  all-wise  God 
Gilds  a  few  points  in  every  several  life, 
And  as  each  flower  upon  the  fresh  hill-side, 
And  every  colored  petal  of  each  flower, 
Is  sketched  and  dyed  each  with  a  new  design, 
Its  spot  of  purple,  and  its  streak  of  brown, 
So  each  man's  life  shall  have  its  proper  lights, 
And  a  few  joys,  a  few  peculiar  charms, 
For  him  round-in  the  melancholy  hours 
And  reconcile  him  to  the  common  days. 
Not  many  men  see  beauty  in  the  fogs 
Of  close  low  pine-woods  in  a  river  town  ; 
Yet  unto  me  not  morn's  magnificence, 
Nor  the  red  rainbow  of  a  summer  eve, 
Nor  Rome,  nor  joyful  Paris,  nor  the  halls 
Of  rich  men  blazing  hospitable  light, 
Nor  wit,  nor  eloquence,  — no,  nor  even  the  song 
Of  any  woman  that  is  now  alive,  — 
Hath  such  a  soul,  such  divine  influence, 
Such  resurrection  of  the  happy  past, 
As  is  to  me  when  I  behold  the  morn 
Ope  in  such  low  moist  road-side,  and  beneath 
Peep  the  blue  violets  out  of  the  black  loam, 
Pathetic  silent  poets  that  sing  to  me 
Thine  elegy,  sweet  singer,  sainted  wife. 
(345) 


WRITTEN  AT  ROME,  1833. 

Alone  in  Rome.    Why,  Rome  is  lonely  too  ; — 

Besides,  you  need  not  be  alone  ;  the  soul 
Shall  have  society  of  its  own  rank. 
Be  great,  be  true,  and  all  the  Scipios, 
The  Catos,  the  wise  patriots  of  Rome 
Shall  flock  to  you  and  tarry  by  your  side, 
And  comfort  you  with  their  high  company. 
Virtue  alone  is  sweet  society, 
It  keeps  the  key  to  all  heroic  hearts, 
And  opens  you  a  welcome  in  them  all. 
You  must  be  like  them  if  you  desire  them, 
Scorn  trifles  and  embrace  a  better  aim 
Than  wine  or  sleep  or  praise  ; 
Hunt  knowledge  as  the  lover  wooes  a  maid, 
And  ever  in  the  strife  of  your  own  thoughts 
Obey  the  nobler  impulse  ;  that  is  Rome  : 
That  shall  command  a  senate  to  your  side  ; 
For  there  is  no  might  in  the  universe 
That  can  contend  with  love.    It  reigns  forever. 
Wait  then,  sad  friend,  wait  in  majestic  peace 
The  hour  of  heaven.    Generously  trust 
Thy  fortune's  web  to  the  beneficent  hand 
That  until  now  has  put  his  world  in  fee 
To  thee.    He  watches  for  thee  still.    His  love 
Broods  over  thee,  and  as  God  lives  in  heaven, 
However  long  thou  walkest  solitary, 
The  hour  of  heaven  shall  come,  the  man  appear. 
(346) 


PETER'S  FIELD.1 


[Knows  he  who  tills  this  lonely  field 

To  reap  its  scanty  corn 
What  mystic  fruit  his  acres  yield 

At  midnight  and  at  morn  ?]' 

That  field  by  spirits  bad  and  good 
By  Hell  and  Heaven  is  haunted, 

And  every  rood  in  the  hemlock  wood 
I  know  is  ground  enchanted. 

[In  the  long  sunny  afternoon 
The  plain  was  full  of  ghosts, 

I  wandered  up,  I  wandered  down 
Beset  by  pensive  hosts.] 

For  in  those  lonely  grounds  the  sun 
Shines  not  as  on  the  town, 

In  nearer  arcs  his  journeys  run, 
And  nearer  stoops  the  moon. 

There  in  a  moment  I  have  seen 

The  buried  Past  arise  ; 
The  fields  of  Thessaly  grew  green, 

Old  gods  forsook  the  skies. 


1  This  poem  on  the  memories  and  associations  of  the  field  by  the 
€oncord  River  where  Mr.  Emerson  and  his  brothers  walked  in  their 
youth,  is  probably  of  earlier  date  than  "The  Dirge,"  with  which  it 
has  two  verses  in  common. 

(347) 


peter's  field. 


I  cannot  publish  in  my  rhyme 

What  pranks  the  greenwood  played  ; 

It  was  the  Carnival  of  time, 
And  Ages  went  or  stayed. 

To  me  that  spectral  nook  appeared 
The  mustering  Day  of  Doom, 

And  round  me  swarmed  in  shadowy  troop 
Things  past  and  things  to  come. 

The  darkness  haunteth  me  elsewhere  ; 

There  I  am  full  of  light ; 
In  every  whispering  leaf  I  hear 

More  sense  than  sages  write. 

Underwoods  were  full  of  pleasance, 

All  to  each  in  kindness  bend, 
And  every  flower  made  obeisance 

As  a  man  unto  his  friend. 

Far  seen  the  river  glides  below 
Tossing  one  sparkle  to  the  eyes. 

I  catch  thy  meaning,  wizard  wave  ; 
The  River  of  my  Life  replies. 


THE  WALK. 

A  queen  rejoices  in  her  peers, 
And  wary  Nature  knows  her  own 
By  court  and  city,  dale  and  down, 
And  like  a  lover  volunteers, 
And  to  her  son  will  treasures  more 
And  more  to  purpose  freely  pour 
In  one  wood  walk,  than  learned  men 
Can  find  with  glass  in  ten  times  ten. 
(349) 


MAY  MORNING. 


Who  saw  the  hid  beginnings 
When  Chaos  and  Order  strove, 

Or  who  can  date  the  morning 
The  purple  flaming  of  love  ? 

I  saw  the  hid  beginnings 

When  Chaos  and  Order  strove, 

And  I  can  date  the  morning  prime 
And  purple  flame  of  love. 

Song  breathed  from  all  the  forest, 

The  total  air  was  fame  ; 
It  seemed  the  world  was  all  torches 

That  suddenly  caught  the  flame. 

Is  there  never  a  retroscope  mirror 
In  the  realms  and  corners  of  space 

That  can  give  us  a  glimpse  of  the  battle 
And  the  soldiers  face  to  face  ? 

Sit  here  on  the  basalt  ranges 

Where  twisted  hills  betray 
The  seat  of  the  world-old  Forces 

Who  wrestled  here  on  a  day. 


****** 
(350) 


MAY  MORNING. 


When  the  purple  flame  shoots  up 
And  Love  ascends  his  throne, 

I  cannot  hear  your  songs,  O  birds, 
For  the  witchery  of  my  own. 

And  every  human  heart 
Still  keeps  that  golden  day 

And  ring  the  bells  of  jubilee 
On  its  own  First  of  May. 


THE  MIEACLE. 


I  have  trod  this  path  a  hundred  times 
With  idle  footsteps,  crooning  rhymes. 
I  know  each  nest  and  web-worm's  tent, 
The  fox-hole  which  the  woodchucks  rent, 
Maple  and  oak,  the  old  Divan 
Self-planted  twice,  like  the  banian. 
I  know  not  why  I  came  again 
Unless  to  learn  it  ten  times  ten. 
To  read  the  sense  the  woods  impart 
You  must  bring  the  throbbing  heart. 
Love  is  aye  the  counterf orce,  — 
Terror  and  Hope  and  wild  Remorse, 
Newest  knowledge,  fiery  thought, 
Or  Duty  to  grand  purpose  wrought. 

Wandering  yester  morn  the  brake, 
I  reached  this  heath  beside  the  lake, 
And  oh,  the  wonder  of  the  power, 
The  deeper  secret  of  the  hour  ! 
Nature,  the  supplement  of  man, 
His  hidden  sense  interpret  can  ;  — 
What  friend  to  friend  cannot  convey 
Shall  the  dumb  bird  instructed  say. 
Passing  yonder  oak,  I  heard 
Sharp  accents  of  my  woodland  bird  ; 
I  watched  the  singer  with  delight,  — 
But  mark  what  changed  my  joy  to  fright,  — 
When  that  bird  sang,  I  gave  the  theme, 
That  wood-bird  sang  my  last  night's  dream, 
(352) 


THE  MIRACLE. 


A  brown  wren  was  the  Daniel 
That  pierced  my  trance  its  drift  to  tell, 
Knew  my  quarrel,  how  and  why, 
Published  it  to  lake  and  sky, 
Told  every  word  and  syllable 
In  his  flippant  chirping  babble, 
All  my  wrath  and  all  my  shames, 
Nay,  God  is  witness,  gave  the  names. 
23 


THE  WATERFALL. 


A  patch  of  meadow  upland 

Reached  by  a  mile  of  road, 
Soothed  by  the  voice  of  waters, 

With  birds  and  flowers  bestowed. 

Hither  I  come  for  strength 

Which  well  it  can  supply, 
For  Love  draws  might  from  terrene  force 

And  potencies  of  sky. 

The  tremulous  battery  Earth 
Responds  to  the  touch  of  man  ; 

It  thrills  to  the  antipodes, 
From  Boston  to  Japan. 


(354) 


WALDEN.1 


In  my  garden  three  ways  meet, 

Thrice  the  spot  is  blest ; 
Hermit  thrush  comes  there  to  build, 

Carrier  doves  to  nest. 

There  broad-armed  oaks,  the  copses'  maze, 

The  cold  sea-wind  detain  ; 
Here  sultry  Summer  over-stays 

When  Autumn  chills  the  plain. 

Self-sown  my  stately  garden  grows  ; 

The  winds  and  wind-blown  seed, 
Cold  April  rain  and  colder  snows 

My  hedges  plant  and  feed. 

From  mountains  far  and  valleys  near 

The  harvests  sown  to-day 
Thrive  in  all  weathers  without  fear,  — 

Wild  planters,  plant  away  ! 

In  cities  high  the  careful  crowds 
Of  woe-worn  mortals  darkling  go, 

But  in  these  sunny  solitudes 
My  quiet  roses  blow. 

1  This  poem  represents  the  early  form  of  "  My  Garden,"  which,  in 
years,  grew  from  this  beginning. 

(355) 


WALDEN. 


Methought  the  sky  looked  scornful  down 

On  all  was  base  in  man, 
And  airy  tongues  did  taunt  the  town, 

"  Achieve  our  peace  who  can  ! " 

What  need  I  holier  dew 

Than  Walden's  haunted  wave, 

Distilled  from  heaven's  alembic  blue, 
Steeped  in  each  forest  cave  ? 

If  Thought  unlock  her  mysteries, 

If  Friendship  on  me  smile, 
I  walk  in  marble  galleries, 

I  talk  with  kings  the  while. 

And  chiefest  thou,  whom  Genius  loved, 

Daughter  of  sounding  seas, 
Whom  Nature  pampered  in  these  groves 

And  lavished  all  to  please,  — 

What  wealth  of  mornings  in  her  year, 

What  planets  in  her  sky  ! 
She  chose  her  best  thy  heart  to  cheer, 

Thy  beauty  to  supply. 

Now  younger  pilgrims  find  the  stream, 

The  willows  and  the  vine, 
But  aye  to  me  the  happiest  seem 

To  draw  the  dregs  of  wine. 


PAN. 

O  what  are  heroes,  prophets,  men, 

But  pipes  through  which  the  breath  of  Pan  doth  blow 

A  momentary  music.    Being's  tide 

Swells  hitherward,  and  myriads  of  forms 

Live,  robed  with  beauty,  painted  by  the  sun  ; 

Their  dust,  pervaded  by  the  nerves  of  God, 

Throbs  with  an  overmastering  energy 

Knowing  and  doing.    Ebbs  the  tide,  they  lie 

White  hollow  shells  upon  the  desert  shore. 

But  not  the  less  the  eternal  wave  rolls  on 

To  animate  new  millions,  and  exhale 

Races  and  planets,  its  enchanted  foam. 

(357) 


MONADNOC  FROM  AFAR. 


Dark  flower  of  Cheshire  garden, 

Red  evening  duly  dyes 
Thy  sombre  head  with  rosy  hues 

To  fix  far-gazing  eyes. 
Well  the  Planter  knew  how  strongly 

Works  thy  form  on  human  thought ; 
I  muse  what  secret  purpose  had  he 

To  draw  all  fancies  to  this  spot. 
(358) 


THE  SOUTH  WIND. 


Sudden  gusts  came  full  of  meaning, 
All  too  much  to  him  they  said, 

Oh,  south  winds  have  long  memories, 
Of  that  be  none  afraid, 

I  cannot  tell  rude  listeners 

Half  the  tell-tale  south  wind  said,  — 
'T  would  bring  the  blushes  of  yon  maples 

To  a  man  and  to  a  maid. 

(359) 


i 


FAME. 


Ah  Fate,  cannot  a  man 

Be  wise  without  a  beard  ? 
East,  West,  from  Beer  to  Dan, 

Say,  was  it  never  heard 
That  wisdom  might  in  youth  be  gotten, 
Or  wit  be  ripe  before  't  was  rotten  ? 

He  pays  too  high  a  price 

For  knowledge  and  for  fame 

Who  sells  his  sinews  to  be  wise, 
His  teeth  and  bones  to  buy  a  name, 

And  crawls  through  life  a  paralytic 

To  earn  the  praise  of  bard  and  critic. 

Were  it  not  better  done, 

To  dine  and  sleep  through  forty  years 
Be  loved  by  few  ;  be  feared  by  none  ; 

Laugh  life  away  ;  have  wine  for  tears 
And  take  the  mortal  leap  undaunted, 
Content  that  all  we  asked  was  granted  ? 

But  Fate  will  not  permit 

The  seed  of  gods  to  die, 
Nor  suffer  sense  to  win  from  wit 

Its  guerdon  in  the  sky, 
Nor  let  us  hide,  whate'er  our  pleasure, 
The  world's  light  underneath  a  measure. 
(360) 


FAME. 


361 


Go  then,  sad  youth,  and  shine  ; 

Go,  sacrifice  to  Fame  ; 
Put  youth,  joy,  health,  upon  the  shrine, 

And  life  to  fan  the  flame  ; 
Being  for  Seeming  bravely  barter, 
And  die  to  Fame  a  happy  martyr. 
1824. 


WEBSTER. 

FROM  THE  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  POEM,  1834. 

Ill  fits  the  abstemious  Muse  a  crown  to  weave 
For  living  brows  ;  ill  fits  them  to  receive  : 
And  yet,  if  virtue  abrogate  the  law, 
One  portrait,  —  fact  or  fancy  —  we  may  draw  ; 
A  form  which  Nature  cast  in  the  heroic  mould 
Of  them  who  rescued  liberty  of  old  ; 
He,  when  the  rising  storm  of  party  roared, 
Brought  his  great  forehead  to  the  council  board, 
There,  while  hot  heads  perplexed  with  fears  the  state, 
Calm  as  the  morn  the  manly  patriot  sate  ; 
Seemed,  when  at  last  his  clarion  accents  broke, 
As  if  the  conscience  of  the  country  spoke. 
Not  on  its  base  Monadnoc  surer  stood, 
Than  he  to  common  sense  and  common  good : 
No  mimic  ;  from  his  breast  his  counsel  drew, 
Believed  the  eloquent  was  aye  the  true  ; 
He  bridged  the  gulf  from  th'  alway  good  and  wise 
To  that  within  the  vision  of  small  eyes. 
Self-centred  ;  when  he  launched  the  genuine  word 
It  shook  or  captivated  all  who  heard, 
Kan  from  his  mouth  to  mountains  and  the  sea, 
And  burned  in  noble  hearts  proverb  and  prophecy. 
(362) 


WRITTEN  IN  A  VOLUME  OF  GOETHE. 


Six  thankful  weeks,  —  and  let  it  be 
A  meter  of  prosperity,  — 
In  my  coat  I  bore  this  book, 
And  seldom  therein  could  I  look, 
For  I  had  too  much  to  think, 
Heaven  and  earth  to  eat  and  drink. 
Is  he  hapless  who  can  spare 
In  his  plenty  things  so  rare  ? 
(363) 


THE  ENCHANTER. 


In  the  deep  heart  of  man  a  poet  dwells 
Who  all  the  day  of  life  his  summer  story  tells  : 
Scatters  on  every  eye  dust  of  his  spells, 
Scent,  form  and  color  :  to  the  flowers  and  shells 
Wins  the  believing  child  with  wondrous  tales  ; 
Touches  a  cheek  with  colors  of  romance, 
And  crowds  a  history  into  a  glance  ; 
Gives  beauty  to  the  lake  and  fountain, 
Spies  over-sea  the  fires  of  the  mountain  ; 
When  thrushes  ope  their  throat,  't  is  he  that  sings, 
And  he  that  paints  the  oriole's  fiery  wings. 
The  little  Shakspeare  in  the  maiden's  heart 
Makes  Romeo  of  a  plough-boy  on  his  cart  ; 
Opens  the  eye  to  Virtue's  starlike  meed 
And  gives  persuasion  to  a  gentle  deed. 
(364) 


PHILOSOPHER. 


Philosophers  are  lined  with  eyes  within, 
And,  being  so,  the  sage  unmakes  the  man. 
In  love,  he  cannot  therefore  cease  his  trade  ; 
Scarce  the  first  blush  has  overspread  his  cheek, 
He  feels  it,  introverts  his  learned  eye 
To  catch  the  unconscious  heart  in  the  very  act. 
His  mother  died,  —  the  only  friend  he  had,  — 
Some  tears  escaped,  but  his  philosophy 
Couched  like  a  cat  sat  watching  close  behind 
And  throttled  all  his  passion.    Is 't  not  like 
That  devil-spider  that  devours  her  mate 
Scarce  freed  from  her  embraces  ? 

(365) 


LIMITS. 


Who  knows  this  or  that  ? 

Hark  in  the  wall  to  the  rat : 

Since  the  world  was,  he  has  gnawed  ; 

Of  his  wisdom,  of  his  frand 

What  dost  thou  know  ? 

In  the  wretched  little  beast 

Is  life  and  heart, 

Child  and  parent, 

Not  without  relation 

To  fruitful  field  and  sun  and  moon. 

What  art  thou  ?    His  wicked  eye 

Is  cruel  to  thy  cruelty. 

(366) 


INSCRIPTION  FOR  A  WELL  IN  MEMORY  OP 
THE  MARTYRS  OF  THE  WAR. 

Fall,  stream,  from  Heaven  to  bless  ;  return  as  well  ; 
So  did  our  sons  ;  Heaven  met  them  as  they  fell. 
(367) 


THE  EXILE. 

(after  taliessin.) 

The  heavy  blue  chain 
Of  the  boundless  main 
Didst  thou,  just  man,  endure. 


1  HAVE  an  arrow  that  will  find  its  mark, 
A  mastiff  that  will  bite  without  a  bark. 
(368) 


THE  LIBRARY  (%THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 
DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 


